Grace's Story: A Wind at My Back Novel
by Maxfan1
Summary: A 1930's set story of love and war, of redemption and reconciliation, and of the love and support of friends and family that will get you through the hardest of times. Find out what happened to the vivid, compelling characters of Wind at My Back after the fifth season. Follow them as they face the ups and downs of small town life, family troubles and joys, and the rise of fascism.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

It isn't often that I find myself nostalgic for the days of my youth, lived as they were in the shadow of the Great Depression, the rise of fascism, two world wars, and my domineering mother. Throw in a few family tragedies and a love life that all too frequently felt like one catastrophe after another and most days the comparative peace of my old age seems very inviting. Still, there are moments when a scent, a turn of phrase, or a glimpse of a dear face in a black and white photograph sets me reminiscing. Past joys and kindnesses and the sharing of them that made them all the sweeter come flooding back. At such moments, I can understand why so many of us cling so fiercely in our old age to times that will never return.

The one time above all others that affects me this way is the Christmas season. The presence of rejoicing amid the chill of winter is a needed reminder that even in the darkest of times life is not all hardship and sorrow. It is always a treat to have so many of my loved ones visit. However, even in their welcome company, my mind turns sooner or later to friends and family recently and long since departed. Honey, Max, Jack, Bob, my parents, Toppy, Ollie, and so many others fill my thoughts. Sometimes, I glance at Van's photograph on the mantle. The sight of him, handsome and vigorous in the uniform of the Abraham Lincoln Battalion, is all it takes to carry me back to a time when one of his infectious grins could make my heart flutter like a sparrow. For a moment that same heart casts off weariness and forgets that it is no younger than the aged, wrinkled body that contains it. I think back to the day Van first came into my life, and more than fifty years vanish as though they had never been.

Grace Bailey to Sally Henry, April 1, 1936

… I have just had the most bewildering April Fool's Day. Toppy and I were just leaving CRNB for lunch at the tearoom in the New Bedford Inn. Jim Flett came up to us on the sidewalk. Right then and there, he finally got around to talking seriously to me about the two of us. As you know, I have become very fond of him over this past year. When we had that beautiful moment together last Valentine's Day, it seemed as though our friendship could possibly grow into something more. Unfortunately, what he had to say was not what I hoped to hear. He told me that it was still too soon after the death of his wife and that he just didn't feel ready to make the kind of commitment to us that he felt I deserved. I could feel my heart drop to the pavement when he suggested that we let things cool off between us for a while.

I don't mind admitting that as he walked away I was confused and hurt. I knew that he could be timid and hesitant at times, but not to this degree. I wondered if there wasn't something wrong with me. What kind of a woman loses four boyfriends in as many years? Still, it wasn't my fault that Judd Wainwright jilted me after rekindling our old romance or that Del Sutton wouldn't reply to my letters after he had to leave town to find a new job. On the other hand, I still feel ashamed whenever I think of the look of heartbreak on Ollie Jefferson's face after I finally got up the nerve to admit to him that I could only care for him as a friend. That's no way to treat someone you've known since third grade.

That was when things got goofy even for April Fool's Day. A stranger with looks like a movie star came running across the street towards me from Ollie's Garage. The first things I noticed were his broad shoulders and his slightly tousled blonde hair. It was only after he stopped right in front of me and stayed still for a second that the look of astonishment and embarrassment on his boyishly handsome face came into focus.

I have to admit that the awkward sincerity with which he asked me if I believed in love at first sight was very appealing. I was even touched a little by what I saw in his warm blue eyes as he told me that he thought it was happening to him. It was a look of joy and surprise as though he had found something precious which he had thought was lost forever. I felt just as surprised when I accepted his dinner invitation later that day. Don't think for a second that I'm getting sappy over a crazy man whom I just met. I know his company may not be the best thing for me, but it can't be worse than sitting around moping over yet another failed romance. His name is Van Mainwaring. …

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

I still wonder what would have happened if I had tried to talk Jim Flett out of his decision to break off with me. Would he have reconsidered? What if he had? My life as a science teacher's wife would certainly have been far easier and less turbulent than the one that lay ahead of me. There are so many moments in a lifetime when one different action or circumstance can change everything. Perhaps this was one such, but it was over. There was no going back.

I had no way of knowing when I first noticed Van running towards me that the last days of my youth were about to begin. They were days when the glory and the misery of life were at their most intense. They lifted my heart up like notes of song and dashed it down like an angel cast out of heaven. They took from me much that I had cherished but gave me much that I cherish still. I did not always live them as well or as wisely as I could have, but they were the days of a life and not empty motion waiting for time to bring it to a halt. For that I have no regrets.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan April 14, 1936

It is beyond me how Grace could have become so smitten with this insufferable American in less than two weeks that she wants to marry him. John Bailey took the better part of a year to court me before we became engaged. Yes, we both knew within a week that we were right for each other, but back then this sort of thing was done properly. There was none of this unseemly modern rush to the altar that usually ends in a quicker and even more unseemly rush to the divorce court.

I will admit that this Vanaver Mainwaring has a certain charisma and polish when he isn't being unbearably impudent to me. However, these things, even in tandem with wealth and good looks, are not enough to make him a suitable husband for my daughter. John Bailey was always a little rough and ready on the surface, but there was a good heart and an honest soul underneath. I wish I could be sure that the same things are in this new beau of Grace's. She deserves no less.

Grace Bailey to Sally Henry April 14, 1936

… How can Mother be so infuriating? She's improved so much since Jack brought his family back to New Bedford in the summer of 1932 and everything began to change for all of us. She took his children, Hub, Fat, and Violet, into her heart. She eventually accepted Honey as part of the family. After Jack died, she came to terms with Honey's remarriage to the boys' teacher Max Sutton. She even accepted their new baby Zack as an honorary grandson. Of course, it helped that Max is the original stand up guy. He was magnificent this past year, looking after the kids while Honey was recovering from her lung trouble at the sanatorium. I was so proud of Mother when she arranged for Honey's care and paid her bills.

I was even more proud of her when she took Maisie McGinty into her home as her ward after her longtime friend and Maisie's grandfather Leo McGinty died. My engagement to Van may be sudden, but she should at least give him a fair chance. She has no right to treat him as though he were some shady character hiding a terrible secret. Still, she doesn't believe that my job as a producer and announcer at CRNB means that I'm serious about work, so why would she believe that I'm serious about marriage.

I suppose that eventually she'll come to see that there is more to Van than money and charm and stop being irritated by his refusal to be cowed by her. It always takes her awhile to let go of her conviction that she alone knows what's best for everyone else, especially me. Van is so easy to talk to. We hadn't even finished the appetizer at our first dinner at the New Bedford Inn Tearoom before I was telling him about how hard I had tried in the past four years to make a life as my own person and not my mother's unpaid housekeeper. Working at CRNB and moving out of Mother's house have really made me feel self-sufficient.

Van listened avidly to what I told him of the ins and outs of radio work. He paid me the compliment of saying that I'm a capable and intelligent woman, not like the social butterflies he usually meets. Even more, he understands my need for independence. He has an overbearing parent of his own. He wanted to be a financier, but his father insisted that he make a career in the army. Apparently, there is a tradition of Mainwarings in the U.S. military going back to the American Revolution. Van refused to be part of it. I can see him now telling me that, "if there's one thing I'm never going to be as long as I live, it's a soldier."

When Van couldn't be moved, his father only paid for his university education at Yale out of duty and never spoke to him again after he graduated. Even worse, the man used his influence in high finance to try to keep Van from getting a job. Apparently, he hoped that unemployment would drive his son into the military if nothing else would. Isn't that awful? I didn't think that there could possibly be another parent in the world more unreasonable than my mother, but apparently there is. Van didn't do too badly as an investment advisor once he finally got some traction after his first year out of Yale. He actually managed to avoid losing too much in the 1929 stock market crash and even made money during the depression afterwards.

You would think that someone who's had his kind of success and can afford every luxury would be happy as a clam, but you would be wrong. He confided to me that in the past few years he has become more and more disenchanted with his way of living. Two days after our first meeting as we walked along the river, he said, "what was adventurous and exciting at twenty-one seems rootless and hollow at thirty-five. When I look at my life, I ask myself what I've actually accomplished. I don't make anything. I don't build anything. I just move money around so that some of it ends up in the pockets of myself and my associates. I can't help wondering what I would leave behind if I were to drop dead tomorrow. You and your family have built not just a business but an entire town. All you and your mother have to do to see dozens of people whose lives you've bettered is walk down the street."

"That was mostly my parents' doing," I contradicted him. "I was president of the Silverdome Mining Company for a short time, but only as a figurehead to reassure the bank and the public while Mother recovered from an illness."

"You underrate yourself. From what I've heard from people who should know, you displayed a fair amount of intelligence, dedication, and business acumen."

"I'm afraid most of that compliment belongs to my advisors, George Murphy and the late Leo McGinty. They were first rate."

"I'm sure they were, but the ability to listen to good advice may be the most important skill you can have in business. For instance, I'm looking at a number of possible business opportunities-mines, factories, a lumber mill. I would be very grateful for your thoughts on their potential to become something like the Silverdome."

Afterwards, when Van wasn't showering me with kisses and compliments and importing Gypsy violinists to serenade me, we talked over the possible business enterprises he mentioned. By the way, forget what the movie magazines say about "the kiss that kills." His kisses make me want to live forever. We looked over prospectuses and other documentation. I asked questions and offered suggestions. I admit that I was flattered by his confidence in me and impressed by his determination to make something better of his life. The more we considered the possibilities before us, the more something like a future began to take shape. Were you this excited when you and Mark were planning a life together in the days before he changed your name from Brewster to Henry?

Just three days ago, Van told me that all he needed to make his dream of a more useful and worthwhile life perfect was someone to share it with. Someone warm and loving and true, but also challenging with a mind of her own. Someone with whom he could share a lifelong romance and a partnership between equals. My heart echoed the longing in his eyes when he said, "Am I dreaming to think that something like that could ever be real?"

There was only one answer I could give him. "If you are, I'm dreaming too."

Robert Bailey to Grace Bailey April 16, 1936

… I wouldn't miss seeing my little sister get married for the world. I'll be there on whatever date you set even if I have to stay at the New Bedford Inn instead of at home. I appreciate your efforts to get Mother to forgive me for going to work for Hugo Gerrard after I left New Bedford. He shouldn't have tried to take the Silverdome Mine and the Bas Lake nickel strike away from the family. However, that is the past and he has abided by his promise not to interfere with the family business interests again. I wish it were enough for Mother that if this weren't the case, I wouldn't work for him no matter how generous the compensation he offers.

I have tried to be a better person. I returned to New Bedford last fall to apologize to Toppy for my shabby treatment of her. I made it clear that I was willing to go back to our original agreement to wait until a case could be made for desertion for our divorce to be finalized. Mother can hardly blame me for the fact that Toppy decided to go through with a quick divorce for adultery anyway so Doris wouldn't have to spend any more time as the girl whose parents were getting divorced.

I still can't believe that you started the whole thing by taking a train all the way to Montreal to confront me. I hardly recognized the holy terror with fire in her eye who told me that she was tired of making excuses for me and of always being the peacemaker between me and the rest of the family when I behaved badly. I couldn't see any sign of the timid girl always in her mother's shadow that I remember from before I left New Bedford. It shook me to the core to realize that you meant it when you said that I could forget about ever seeing you again if I didn't treat Toppy decently.

So did my Diana telling me after overhearing us that her love for me was no longer enough to make her go along with things she knew in her heart were wrong. I felt lower than dirt when she told me that if this was how I treated my first family she wasn't sure she wanted to start a second with me. There are moments in life when a man has to face up to the worst in himself and do something about it. That was one of them. If you hadn't lit a fire under me, I'm not sure that I would have done the right thing or that I would be married to Diana today. Thank you for that. I truly hope that this Vanaver Mainwaring makes you as happy as Diana has made me. …

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

I was pleased that Bob was willing to come to my wedding and very appreciative. It hadn't been easy for him to return to New Bedford since he left with Toppy and Doris after resigning his position with the Silverdome Mining Company. Most of the townspeople, not without some justice, blamed his impatience and heedlessness for the explosion at the mine that took Gene MacFarlane's sight. Their hostility made it impossible for him to stay. I wish that they could have known how deeply he regretted that mistake or understood the tremendous pressure he was under at the time to find a new vein of ore to keep the mine from closing.

Running the Silverdome Mining Company has never been an easy task. Having to return to that job after Bob's departure didn't do anything to help Mother's poor health. She performed magnificently and saved the business from the bank once again. However, I am sure the strain contributed to the stroke she suffered while Van and I were enjoying our honeymoon in the wake of a hasty elopement. I wish I had been more patient with her efforts to run our wedding to suit herself however unreasonable her objections were to my choice of venue, my wedding gown, and my intention to invite Bob. I had no idea how frail she really was.

Van was wonderful about cutting our honeymoon short so that we could return to be with her. Honey, Max, Maisie, Toppy, and the rest of the family rallied round. Bob wasn't with us. When Toppy asked him over the phone to come, he told her that Mother had made it very clear just a few days earlier that she didn't want to see him again even at my wedding. I wasn't sure that I wanted to see him again when my repeated efforts to make him aware of the seriousness of Mother's condition failed. However, when she began to recover, he did visit New Bedford and made one more attempt to reconcile with her. When she rejected his overtures yet again, I almost despaired of her. There are times, especially times of trial, when stubbornness can be the Bailey family's greatest virtue. However, there are also times when it can be our most terrible vice.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry July 20, 1936

… Van has been very understanding about my making a short trip home on my own to check in on Mother. …At first, I wasn't sure that Juanita Bascombe's therapy would be helpful for mother, but she is making excellent progress. The fact that Juanita is a Negro caused a stir in certain quarters here. There hasn't been a Negro living in New Bedford since before the Great War. As far as I am concerned, Juanita can stay here for as long as her work requires. She is a decent person and any nurse who has the nerve and stamina to stand up to my mother is worth her weight in gold. I strongly suspect Dr. Barlow of recommending her for just that reason.

I remember mother telling him a couple of years or so back, "the medical profession is a conspiracy of quacks who delight in making their patients as miserable as possible and overcharging them for the privilege." He replied, "If I judged patients by you, Mrs. Bailey, I would say they were all unreasonable curmudgeons who believe that they can get well without proper rest or treatment." When Dr. Gregory retired, I would have sworn that no one could stand his ground with Mother as well as he could, but Dr. Barlow has proven me wrong more than once.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

When I look back on the summer of 1936, so much of it seems like a dream to me. After Mother recovered enough for Van and me to resume our honeymoon, life became a whirl of unfamiliar but exciting places, people, and feelings. Together we shared the beauty and joy of new love fulfilling itself in the intimacy of new marriage. The world of wealth and luxury in which Van lived was a revelation to me. My family did have money, but the tasteful comfort of smalltown gentility is not the same thing as the opulence of the very rich. I had never seen anything like it outside of the movies. The homes, the food, the clothes were often intoxicating. I could understand how easy it could be to live in a perpetual dream and use money to place a wall between oneself and the lives and struggles of ordinary people.

I was pleased to see that Van avoided this kind of shallowness. He cultivated a life of the mind and spirit marked by a love of thought-provoking books and captivating jazz and an intense interest in public affairs. Sharing this life with him was one of the most satisfying pleasures of our marriage even on those rare occasions when our views differed. In this way I obtained some of the education that I had previously been denied. My husband was a man of tender feelings and sharp intelligence. As that glorious summer wore on, I became more and more convinced that it might be worth spending a lifetime getting to know him.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

All summers come to an end sooner or later and this one was no exception. For me it ended in late September on the long road back to New Bedford. Trees, fields, and the occasional house sped by. I sat there reeling from shock. My driving was entirely by reflex. Van was waiting for me at the end of the journey to celebrate our decision to purchase and run the Alawanda Lumber Company. I had no idea what I was going to say or do once I saw him.

Only minutes earlier, an associate of his had revealed to me the truth about our marriage. Behind his businessman front, the husband I adored was a high-class con artist who had involved me as an unwitting accomplice in one of his swindles. I know. It sounds like one of the ridiculous plots from those overwrought soap operas that Mrs. Cramp used to run in the afternoons on CRNB. It didn't feel ridiculous when it happened to me. It felt like someone had smashed my life into a thousand pieces and left them lying at my feet like so many shards of broken glass. Every one of those shards seemed a mirror reflecting a broken dream, a lost possibility, or a crushed hope.

Is it any wonder that in my pain and humiliation I convinced myself that I hated Van and sought revenge? Van's associate, Paloma, with nothing to gain by lying, had told me that whatever else about Van was false, his love for me was true. She also told me that he had tried to back out of the swindle in which he had ultimately involved me and been forced to go through with it by his very dangerous main partner. Throughout, he had made clear his intention to give up the confidence game afterwards and make an honest life with me at his side.

Van told me the same thing more or less when I confronted him that night. I think I knew the moment he went out the door to check into a room at the New Bedford Inn that he really did love me. It wasn't enough to keep me from committing one of the most shameful acts of my life.

My scheme to use Van's love for me to hurt him as he had hurt me didn't work as I expected. I failed to trick him with a swindle of my own, but I did hurt him. It was only when I heard the pain in his voice as he told me that he understood that his deceit had destroyed our marriage and any feeling I had ever had for him that uneasiness about what I had done began to grow in me.

As his footsteps faded away, I began to realize that he was wrong, at least about my feelings for him. Nonetheless, I kept denying to myself all that day what my heart was trying to tell me. I had no way of knowing that he had gone directly from me to the town square where a recruiter was signing up volunteers for the newly forming International Brigades. Within the hour, he had enlisted and was on his way to Spain.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring October 16, 1936

… Virtually everything I told you about my background is true. The only lie, other than introducing Paloma as an old family servant, was that my father was Albert Mainwaring of San Francisco and not Jonathan Marshall of Long Island. Both men were together in Teddy Roosevelt's Rough Riders during the Spanish-American War. They expected the real Vanaver Mainwaring and I to be the best of friends when we knew each other at Groton. It didn't work out that way.

The real Van was a bully and a louse, and I was glad to see the back of him when it was time to go on to college, he to Cornell and I to Yale. After learning of his untimely death by drowning, I had no problem with using his name as a cover for swindling. I should change it for another or for my real name, but I find myself unable to do so. Whatever wrongs I have committed under it, it is still the name under which I met and fell in love with you. Perhaps what I am about to do in Spain will remove some of the tarnish from it. I wish that we could have had the life we planned for together, but we never will. For that I have no one to blame but myself. …

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

When I learned what Van had done, I was stunned by shame and regret. All the anger and bitterness fell away. The thought of what I had driven him to left me shaken and fearful. I was aware of and shared Van's contempt for Fascism and dread of what might happen if its advance wasn't halted, but it had never occurred to me that he would go this far. I had also read the newspaper reports of the bloody and merciless fighting then raging in Spain and could hardly bear the thought of Van hurling himself into that maelstrom.

There was only one thing to be done and I did it. I left for Toronto determined to find Van. This I achieved by walking into the offices of the Toronto Star and persuading a sympathetic reporter to introduce me to a contact from the Canadian Communist Party. It took a while, but I was able to convince the contact to get a message to Van asking him to meet me.

The meeting took place in Queen's Park near the statue of John A. MacDonald. We greeted each other tentatively and passed a few moments with small talk. Then Van assured me that he was glad to see me and asked me why I wanted to see him. I began with stumbling thanks for his restitution to the victims of his swindle. Also, for investing in the Silverdome Mining Company under what neither Mother nor I learned until later was his real name-an act that had helped save the family business from going under.

Then it all came pouring out-my regret that I had ever tried to take revenge, my sincere forgiveness for what he had done to me, and my hope that he could forgive me. I have rarely heard sweeter words than the ones he spoke then. "Of course, I forgive you. I should have realized how deeply hurt you were. I should have told you that I'd paid back the money I swindled out of the Easterbrooks. I had no right to expect you to take my reformation entirely on faith."

"Maybe not, but I should have told you that just saying you intended to change wasn't enough. Maybe you would have told me about repaying the Easterbrooks and I wouldn't have behaved like such a fool."

"I'm just glad to know that you don't hate me anymore. You've lifted a weight from my heart."

"I love you, Van. I may have forgotten that while I was lost in a fog of anger, but I never stopped loving you."

"I love you too, Grace. I wish there were still a chance for us, but I can't return to New Bedford with you. I've made a promise that I have to keep. I didn't enlist in the International Brigades just to escape the wreck I made of our life together, although that was part of it. Fascism has to be stopped in Spain before it sweeps every last vestige of civilization and democracy from Europe if not the world. It won't be easy. This war is brutal and there's no knowing how long it will last or how it will end. Even if I hadn't treated you so badly, I haven't any right to expect you to remain part of my life under those conditions."

"Van …" He silenced me with the touch of his finger on my lips.

"What can I possibly offer you with an ocean between us and no guarantee that I'll ever come back? You should go home to New Bedford and go on with your life. I have more than enough from legitimate investments to repay all my victims with interest and still make you a reasonable settlement. I'll make the necessary arrangements to remove any legal obstacles to a divorce."

I stared at him with my jaw hanging open in disbelief. "What did you think I meant when I said I loved you? That it was for better only? That I can't see that you've put your old life behind you? Do you honestly think that I could turn my back on you when you're about to risk your life for others in a foreign country?"

"Grace . . ."

This time it was I who put my finger to his lips. "I don't know if reconciliation is possible or if we've hurt each other too much for that, but I think it's worth waiting for you to come back so we can find out together. I will wait for you and I will keep on loving you."

"Do you really mean that?"

"I've never meant anything more in my life."

We stood staring into each other's eyes for a moment, hardly daring to believe in the hope we saw there. Then I spoke to break the tension. "We can write to each other while you're gone."

"I'd like that."

"I'm glad." I dug into my purse and pulled out a letter still sealed in its envelope. "This is for Will Lane. His parents gave it to me before I left New Bedford."

"It was good of you to bring it. I don't know that anyone that young has any business in a war. He can't really be nineteen, can he?"

"It's hard to believe, but he is."

Van promised that he would deliver the letter and that he would write from New York before he left for Spain. We kissed before saying goodbye. I prayed that it wasn't for the last time.

That night in my hotel room I sat and stared at the letter Van had sent to me before he had left New Bedford. I had just finished rereading it. Thinking back to our courtship, it was now so very clear to me that Van had not built a false front behind which lurked essential rottenness. He had simply used what was best in himself to hide what was worst. The good man I fell in love with was not an illusion. He was all that remained to go forward into the future now that the dishonesty and selfishness of the past had been left behind.

May Bailey to Jesse Buchanan October 20, 1936

… It is sobering to think that my own daughter fears me so much that she could suffer through such a terrible ordeal and not immediately come to me with her troubles. How could she think that I could see my own child in such pain and want to gloat? My fears about Van may have proven all too horribly justified, but I would much rather have been absolutely wrong and seen my darling Grace happy with the man she loves.

I still feel like murdering him with the first blunt object that comes to hand for what he did. However, his efforts at atonement are sufficient that for the time being I am willing to go along with Grace in giving him the benefit of the doubt. I am not certain that she is doing the right thing in going after him, but I can understand why she feels the need to make her peace with him.

As I wait for Grace to return, I find it hard to avoid looking back on my past treatment of other members of the family. I see little in which I can take pride. I can't help cringing when I think of how I behaved towards Honey during that first year after Jack's death. How could I have tried to take Hub and Henry from her and farmed out Violet to distant cousins? How could I have had Max fired from his teaching position when he married Honey after she left this house taking her children with her?

You and Grace certainly tried hard enough to warn me that I was taking the wrong path. Thank God I came to my senses in time and got Max his job back before he and Honey left New Bedford with the children. Having to admit to the school board that I had used my influence with them to have Max fired for selfish reasons was humiliating, but I deserved every bitter drop of that particular cup.

I can't help wondering if John and I were too stern with Bob and Jack when they were growing up. They needed to be tough to succeed in the mining business, but I can think of so many moments when we could have been a little more forgiving. We made Bob tough, but we may have also made him more than a little selfish. As for Jack, all I did was drive him away from me. When he returned to New Bedford, I did it again.

The last time I saw him alive he stormed out of this house, taking his family with him. I was certain that we would patch up our differences somehow. I had no way of knowing that it was already too late. It was almost too late for me and Bob when I had my stroke. If only he could see how dangerous his association with Hugo Gerrard is. Bob is a fool to think that he can keep Gerrard's dishonest business methods and rumored ties to homegrown fascists like Adrien Arcand at arm's length. Then again, how many times have I thought others fools only to be proven one myself? . . .

Next Post: Comrades and neighbors


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry October 27, 1936

… As for myself, there are things that I have to tell you that are not easy to put on paper. The long and short of it is that there was a crisis in my marriage in the past month and neither Van nor I handled it very well. It would be too painful for me to go into details here. Let's just say that there were misunderstandings and foolish behavior on both sides. Both of us were dishonest at times. Both of us let things get out of hand to the point where I believed that I hated Van and he believed that our marriage was over. I was wrong and only the future will tell if Van was too. . .

Part of me admires Van for being honorable enough to go through with his commitment to the International Brigades. Part of me can't believe that he could be so foolish as to take such a terrible risk. He could be maimed or killed. I am sorry to bring up what I know must be a painful subject for you, but we both spent most of the Great War living in fear for our brothers at the front. I'm not looking forward to doing the same thing for Van. . .

In happier news, Juanita's therapy and Maisie's company continue to benefit Mother. Mother grumbles that both of them are trying to subject her to inhuman torture or turn her into a hopeless invalid depending on whether they want her to do something difficult to strengthen her coordination or whether she wants to do more than she is ready to do yet. However, I think she understands that they are only trying to do what is best for her.

Juanita and Maisie have also been good for each other. With Maisie around, Juanita doesn't have to handle Mother all by herself. Maisie has learned a lot from Juanita about what a woman can accomplish with a warm heart, a sharp mind, and an iron determination. I think she has a lot to do with Maisie's newfound ambition to become a doctor.

Maisie can be a bit impulsive and irreverent at times, but hours spent in Juanita's company are teaching her, however slowly, to temper those qualities with patience. She may very well make a fine doctor someday. Mother approves of the idea. Just last night she told me, "a young girl should have ambitions for her future. I certainly don't want Maisie to think that she has to spend the best part of her youth as my caretaker."

The new book, A Woman's Secret by Lucinda Fairchild is turning out to be a modest success. The whole town was surprised at the revelation that the author is actually Toppy writing under a pseudonym. I have read it and it's pretty good. It's a series of interconnected sketches about a group of women in a small town not unlike New Bedford. Toppy has a real talent for low key realism.

Hopefully this will encourage New Bedford to see her as something more than the scandalous divorcee who runs a dress shop. I have to admire Max for being so generous in his praise of Toppy's talent and in his congratulations to her on her achievement. Max has worked so hard and for such a long time to establish himself as a writer with only a couple of published articles and a couple of mystery shows on CRNB to show for it. It can't be easy to see Toppy reap some of the success he's dreamed of for years in less than seven months since she began to write her first novel.

Archie Attenborough is also an admirer of Toppy's writing. He was very enthusiastic on the subject when he asked me to give her his congratulations. It's ridiculous the distance they keep from each other. All anyone has to do to know their real feelings is to hear the warmth with which each talks about the other. I know they both decided that they needed some time to find their feet after Toppy's divorce and the death of Archie's mother. However, it's been months.

Toppy has done a spectacular job of making a new life for herself. Archie, in his own eccentric way, seems to have gotten the hang of shifting for himself for the first time in his life. I suppose the house he lived in with his mother does have too many memories and not everyone has what it takes to live alone in a place that big. I don't know how that lawyer, Mr. Waters, that he rents it out to manages.

Archie seems to be happy enough in the back room of his pharmacy. I know I wouldn't be, but there's no accounting for bachelors. Anyway, I told Archie that he should give Toppy his congratulations himself. I didn't think she'd mind if he invited her to dinner to celebrate her success. Speaking of living arrangements, I am back in the room I was renting from Toppy before Van came to New Bedford and turned everything upside down. …

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

I wasn't the only one in New Bedford hiding a secret. Rebecca Graham, the enthusiastic redheaded teen Toppy employed as an assistant at the dress shop, had one of her own. Her mother was mentally disturbed to the point that she refused to even leave her room if it wasn't absolutely necessary for personal hygiene. When Rebecca revealed her secret to me, she told me that it was only fair for her to do so since she knew the truth about Van. She had accidentally overheard me talking about it to Toppy.

I was surprised to find that Rebecca's life wasn't as carefree as she made it look at first glance with her constant chatter about movies and her ambition to be an actress when she grew up. I could see a little why she reminded Toppy of me before I started to find my own way in life. I should have been more patient with her when she told me how romantic she thought it was that my husband was a charming rogue inspired by love to atone for his misdeeds by going off to war.

Instead, I was pretty short, telling her that Van could be killed. Waiting for someone you love to come back from a bloodbath like the one taking place in Spain while knowing that the worst could happen at any time is not glamorous. Toppy was right to reproach me. She pointed out that Rebecca couldn't know the truth of what I had just told her. She was only fifteen. She hadn't even been born yet when Toppy and I were living through the Great War.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring October 30, 1936

… Will sends his thanks for the letter and for visiting his parents. He wonders if you could keep an eye on them while he's away. His brother and sister stay in touch with them, but neither lives in New Bedford. Living on the outskirts of town, they haven't many neighbors. I have taken Will under my wing as much as I can and have gotten some help in that regard from a fellow American, Harry Schmitz. Harry is a tall, easygoing Negro from West Virginia who was a miner the same as Will. He lost his job three years ago, wandered up to Canada looking for work, and became a Communist during the On to Ottawa Trek.

…Many of our group were reluctant to warm up to me. They couldn't understand why a wealthy businessman would join impoverished workingmen like themselves in the International Brigades. I told them about the uglier sights of my trip to Germany three years ago. I also made clear my disgust with the sympathy for Fascism harbored by most of the rich and powerful in both Canada and America.

That two authentic proletarians like Will and Harry vouched for me helped. So did your photograph, at least with Mackie Cohen, a tough egg from the slums of Toronto. When he saw me looking at it, he figured that to leave a knockout like you behind I must be the world's most dedicated antifascist. That or a complete lunatic.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan October 30, 1936

… Dr Barlow will talk to Mrs. Barlow about letting Maisie help her in her work with the New Bedford Hospital Auxiliary. He admitted to Grace when she asked him for that favor that he was convinced to grant it by the fact that Maisie has been a member of the New Bedford High School chapter of the Junior Red Cross since last year.

You remember how surprised and impressed she was when she joined to learn that nineteen years earlier Grace had been one of the organization's founders. Grace admitted that she was part of the delegation of students that Sally Brewster led to ask Principal Miller's permission for the project. However, she insisted that it was Sally Brewster who came up with the idea and did most of the work. That may be so, but I seem to remember Grace and Sally having several excited discussions on the matter long before anyone else was involved. …

From the Journals of Honey Sutton November 2, 1936

Today Toppy came with me on my appointment to do Mrs. Graham's hair at her home. Grace approved of what we had in mind but begged off coming with us on the grounds that Mr. Graham might not appreciate her presence. Things have been rocky between the two of them ever since he denied the Silverdome Mining Company a loan for the equipment it needed to modernize its operations to meet new competition. Grace and Mother Bailey [May Bailey. This is an old-fashioned way of referring to one's mother-in-law. Ed.] had to find the money by other means. Grace, not to mention the rest of the family, had hoped for better from the manager of the New Bedford branch of the Royal Dominion Bank

. . . At first, Mr. Graham resisted our suggestion that he should consult Toppy's therapist about his wife's mental health. I pointed out that he owed it to his daughter to do whatever he could for his wife. Toppy chimed in that seeing her mother become more and more closed in on herself was hurting her deeply. It isn't natural for the poor child to have to spend most of her time when she isn't at school or at work with her mother to keep her from being alone. She should be doing things with friends and having new experiences like any other girl her age.

Mr. Graham admitted that this was true. However, he had consulted doctors before and none of them had done any good. Toppy conceded that maybe her therapist wouldn't be able to help either, but it couldn't hurt to at least find out what he had to say. Mr. Graham promised, for Rebecca's sake, to make an appointment as soon as possible. …

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring November 4, 1936

… Please, tell Will that I will be happy to look in on his parents in his absence. It's easy enough for Maisie and I to stop by on our visits to Roolie. You remember Roolie, the old Gypsy woman I took you to see when we were courting. Her son is still trying to persuade her to move to Pinebury and live with him instead of on her own. However, she is almost as stubborn as my mother. At least the spectacles Dr. Barlow arranged for her to get have prevented any further deterioration of her vision and she is otherwise as healthy as a horse.

… Your enlistment in the International Brigades has sent shockwaves through New Bedford. Last Wednesday, I was almost kicked out of the Daughters of the Empire because of it. Dot Grady was on her high horse about you associating with Communists. I defended you, but it was really Mother who saved the day. She told everyone that you and your fellow volunteers, Communist or not, are willing to risk your lives to defend people you don't even know from slaughter and enslavement at the hands of traitors and mass murderers and she admires you for it.

You should have seen Mrs. Grady's face turn purple when Mother told her that she couldn't remember the last time she or her husband so much as went out of their way for anyone but themselves. Mother also made much more than it deserved of my volunteer work with the I.O.D.E. and of one or two good turns I've done for members in the past. I've never heard her say so many nice things about me at one time before in my life. Anyway, I remain a member in good standing of the Imperial Order of the Daughters of the Empire, New Bedford Chapter.

Next Post: Van's new friends and Grace's family


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

May Bailey to Jesse Buchanan October 29, 1936

… The stance I took at the I.O.D.E. meeting may seem strange coming from a fairly conservative capitalist such as myself. Certainly, I am no admirer of the Spanish Republic. I am appalled by the lawlessness of its Communist and Anarchist militias and its habit of expropriating private property. I would be absolutely certain that the Republic is the worst thing that could possibly happen to the Spanish people-if I hadn't been paying close attention to its opponents.

Generalissimo Franco and his cronies launched a military coup against a democratically elected government which they had sworn an oath to defend. They are carrying out a deliberate, systematic campaign of terror and mass murder against the Spanish people. These facts alone should be enough to deny them the support of any decent person.

Obviously, Hitler and Mussolini are not decent persons. They have furnished Franco and his band of cutthroats with arms and logistics support since the beginning of the war. They continue to do so in spite of having signed a nonintervention pact with all of the other major European powers pledging them to support neither side. I have no love for Stalin, but I can't blame him for responding to their cynical conduct by having the Communist parties of several countries recruit volunteers to fight for the Republic.

What really worries me is what will happen if Franco wins. France, the one strong democratic power in Western Europe, will be surrounded by fascist dictatorships on three sides. I can't believe that such a dangerous situation wouldn't result in a general European war. Perhaps, if the Fascists are beaten in this war, my grandsons won't have to fight them in the next. . .

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring November 10, 1936

I remember Roolie and the momentary, wistful smile she favored us with as though she were remembering the days when she was young and in love. She told me, with a twinkle in her eye, that I should dye my hair black because when you were twelve she promised you that you would marry a tall, dark, and handsome stranger. She hated to be proved wrong. I also remember you joking that one out of three wasn't bad. I was tall. I rejoined, "the better to sweep you off your feet, darling."

I can still taste the kiss I gave you as I did just that. Will we ever be that happy together again? I hope so. I hope that the fortune she told us promising a long and happy life together proves entirely true. … Recruits for the International Brigades continue to pour in. I find it amazing how many of them are immigrants. Native born Canadians like Will are in a large but definite minority.

Oscar Saarinen, a Finnish-Canadian lumberjack from Port Arthur, Ontario offered an explanation that makes sense. Many of his fellow Finns as well as Ukrainians, Hungarians, and other Eastern Europeans work in industries such as mining and timber where there is a great deal of labor organizing and radical politics. Some, including Saarinen, belong to the Communist Party. Understandably, they are very receptive to appeals to fight fascism. They see the war in Spain as simply a more savage version of the fight they have been waging against unemployment and mistreatment by the state and by their bosses since the beginning of the Depression.

I can't say that I don't sympathize. If your choice is to starve on the road, be underpaid for the little, sometimes dangerous, work that you can get or be penned up in a relief camp, even a war might seem better. Obviously, I don't include your mother in that remark about bosses. The Silverdome Mining Company's recognition of its employees' union and policy of paying part of each miner's wages in stock are far in advance of what other mining companies would allow. If Spanish mine owners, industrialists, and landowners had been that reasonable, there might not be a civil war in Spain.

It occurs to me that Franco's friend Hitler would probably consider all the brawny, straw-haired Finns in our group fine specimens of Aryan manhood. No doubt as an Anglo-American, I fall into the same category. He would probably say that we were degrading ourselves by associating with Jews like Mackie and a Negro like Harry. I suppose we'll just have to live with the shame.

Ironically, Harry's father was originally from Germany. Speaking of Mackie, it turns out that he met Maisie's grandfather a couple of times in the days when he worked in a salvage yard. He asked me to tell Maisie that Leo McGinty was very well thought of by him and by his neighbors in Cabbagetown. He had a reputation as an honest businessman who never cheated a customer and always treated his employees fairly. . .

From the Journals of Honey Sutton November 12, 1936

It was a relief to hear from Archie Attenborough that I didn't need to worry about Dot Grady's threat to have her husband run against Max in the regular mayoral election in December. He told me that Mrs. Grady can get as steamed up as she wants to about May thwarting her attempt to kick Grace out of the I.O.D.E.. Alastair Grady isn't about to give up his safe seat on the school board even if he does see Max as a dangerous radical.

After the way Archie engineered Max's victory in the special mayoral election this past summer, I trust his judgement in matters of local politics. He and Toppy are seeing each other almost every day these days. I hope what they have will last. They make such a wonderful couple.

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring November 13, 1936

I don't know if we will be as happy together again as we were in those first days after we met, but my memories of them are no longer poisoned by bitterness. Whether we rebuild our marriage or not, that is something for which I am very thankful. . . Maisie asked me to send her thanks to Mackie Cohen for the kind words about her grandfather. It's been over a year since he died, but I can tell that she still misses him very much.

Fortunately, Eddie Jackson continues to show that he is willing and able to do whatever he has to do to stay sober and be the father she deserves. I think that it helps her to finally have him in her life. Mother was unquestionably right when she allowed him to stay in New Bedford and run the pawnshop that Maisie's grandfather left her.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan November 14, 1936

Hub brought that nice Laura Bridgeman to dinner. Hopefully his interest in her will lead him to think better of his ambition to be a Catholic priest. If he chooses that course, I am reconciled to accepting it, but I find it hard to give up hope that he may, someday, run the Silverdome Mining Company. . . Hub told Grace that there were Finns at the lumber camp where he worked last summer. He assures me that they were good men, sturdy, hardworking, and reliable. Grace finds it comforting to think that Van will be serving alongside men he can trust. If the reports of the fighting in Madrid are accurate, he will need every advantage he can get.

… I am afraid that Grace did not exaggerate in her letter to you. In its treatment of the peasantry, the Spanish aristocracy appears to be even worse than its 19th century counterpart in Scotland which drove my mother's family and so many others off their land to make way for sheep during the Highland Clearances. …

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring November 16, 1936

. . . You wouldn't think that Oscar Saarinen and Mackie Cohen would have much in common, Oscar being a lumberjack from the Ontario woods and Mackie being every inch a city boy. However, they have become great friends. Mackie even took him down to his neighborhood on the western edge of the Ward to meet his old pals and those of his family who still speak to him since he became a Communist. Mackie introduced him to the corned beef sandwich which he raved about. Oscar shared some of his mother's delicious pulla bread with us.

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring November 20, 1936

… I am back working at CRNB although only part time. Jim Flett has a full teaching schedule until next summer, so Mrs. Cramp needs the help. Of course, she waited to ask me until the I.O.D.E. vote showed that I was still in the good graces of New Bedford society. I refused her suggestion that she take some of Jim's already reduced time at the station and give it to me. I don't care if she thinks I'm a better announcer than he is. Even if he weren't a friend, with a son to support he needs the money. When doing business with Mrs. Cramp you have to watch your back and your front and both sides

. . . I hope that you and your fellow volunteers enjoy the scones I am sending with this letter. They are from one of the recipes Mrs. Rutledge gave me when she had to leave New Bedford to take another job as a housekeeper after the Rev. Seale died. . . .

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry November 20, 1936

. . . I was delighted to hear from Jim that his acquaintance with the math teacher from Northbridge looks like it might develop into something more. She even likes that silly beret that I have to be careful not to giggle at every time I see him wearing it. I'm not sure that it was such a good idea for him to consult me on how he should proceed further. With my record of failed romances that seems like asking the helmsman of the Titanic for advice on how to steer a ship through an ice field.

. . . As much as I enjoy baking, there has to be more that I can contribute to the struggle against fascism. I can't stand the thought of Van and his friends risking their lives in Spain while I sit safely at home and do nothing but wait. . .

From the Journal of Honey Sutton November 22, 1936

. . . Sunday dinner at May Bailey's home is always lively with the whole family at one table talking over the week's events. This dinner was even more exciting than usual. Almost none of us expected Archie's bashful announcement that he had asked Toppy to marry him and she had accepted. Pandemonium ensued as everyone except Grace tried to congratulate the happy couple at the same time. Grace just looked on with a warmly benevolent smile that made me absolutely certain that Toppy had given her the news in advance. At least she did until Toppy announced that she wanted her for her matron of honor.

From the flabbergasted look on her face I don't think Grace had any warning of that. She stammered that Althea Bridgeman should be matron of honor. She and Toppy have been friends since high school. However, Toppy insisted. She informed Grace that she had talked to Mrs. Bridgeman about it. Mrs. Bridgeman understands and is happy to be a bridesmaid. Grace was still reluctant. However, she was obviously touched when Toppy told her, "Althea Bridgeman is a dear friend, but you are my best friend. Please, say yes."

Even Grace, modest as she is, couldn't resist an appeal like that.

Next Post: Another colorful volunteer. Grace is restless. Wedding planning.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring November 24, 1936

. . . If you visit me in Toronto, it will have to be soon. The word is that we don't have long before we go to New York and set sail for Europe. We have already been here for longer than I expected when I volunteered. It would mean so much if you could come. I think of you first thing in the morning when I wake up and last thing at night when I turn out the lights. My arms feel empty without you in them. . .

. . . Our newest volunteer is colorful even by our group's standards. Johnny Pike claims that some of the characters in L.M. Montgomery's stories of Prince Edward Island are based on members of his family. I don't know whether or not to believe him. In all fairness, my Canadian fellow volunteers tell me that his accent identifies him as coming from the region of Canada in which Prince Edward Island is located. They call it a Maritimer accent. Johnny certainly sounds very different from Will.

Johnny also claims to have seen small dragons on an island in the Dutch East Indies and an actual mermaid off the coast of Japan while serving with the Merchant Marine. Mackie Cohen was very skeptical of Johnny's stories. When he told the one about seeing the dragons, Mackie asked him if this was before or after he saw the giant ape. "Yeah, there was a giant ape," Johnny immediately shot back with an amused gleam in his eye. "Tall as a three-story building and a dozen different kinds of ugly. Take away the height and he looked exactly like you."

"At least I don't look like I belong on the wrong end of a fishing line," Mackie retorted with equal good nature. It was only then that I was able to get a word in edgewise and tell Mackie that the small dragons Johnny was talking about were probably the strange reptile W. Douglas Burden brought back specimens of from Komodo Island ten years ago. He named it the komodo dragon. Mackie sheepishly admitted that he did hear something years ago about two of them being brought to the reptile house of the London Zoo in England. Johnny conceded that maybe he was exaggerating about the ones he saw breathing fire. Since then the two of them have been the best of friends.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan November 25, 1936

. . . Grace has too much time on her hands even with her work at CRNB. Since she returned to New Bedford, she has cleaned Toppy's house from top to bottom twice and mine once. A couple of more days and she will be through with mine for the second time and ready to start on Toppy's again. Juanita says that Grace's visits are like having a cyclone blow through. When she isn't cleaning, she's cooking here or at Toppy's except when Toppy has Archie over for supper. Then Toppy insists on doing the cooking herself although she admits that except for one or two dishes she isn't on Grace's level as a cook.

I also wonder if Grace's interest in the news from Spain isn't becoming a little too intense. She now subscribes to and reads a bewildering variety of newspapers and magazines in her efforts to stay current and is keeping a scrapbook of the most important items. Still, if it were my husband about to walk into the middle of a civil war, I might be a little unreasonable about the matter myself.

Toppy is asking a great deal from me. For her sake and Doris' I might manage to be civil to Bob if she insists on having him at her wedding. However, I would rather be eaten alive by black flies again than speak to that home-wrecking trollop he married after divorcing Toppy.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry November 30, 1936

. . . I wish I hadn't had to spend so much of my weekend in Toronto conducting business. I did spend Saturday afternoon and evening with Van. It was such a joy to be with him with no lies or illusions between us. It's a little early to say that we can rebuild our life together. However, the love is still there in the honesty with which we talked of his past and our present. Even more, it is there in all the little moments of tenderness and thoughtfulness between us that say "I love you" far more eloquently than any words can.

. . . It was a pleasure to meet Van's fellow volunteers. They were very friendly to me and every bit as colorful as he paints them in his letters. The Communists among them are hardly the crazed, bloodthirsty fanatics so often caricatured in editorial cartoons and political speeches. Of course, these are Canadian and, in Harry's case, American Communists, not Stalin's secret police. Oscar was happy to receive the letters, fresh clothes, and more pulla bread from his parents. It was very nice of his mother to let me have her pulla bread recipe. I hope she enjoys my recipe for scones.

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring November 30, 1936

. . . I have the bankbooks for the separate account to reimburse your past victims on your return from Spain. If you should fail to return, and I hope with all my heart that never happens, I will follow your instructions and donate the money to the charity or charities of my choice. Enclosed are copies of the photograph I took of you with Harry, Will, Mackie, Oscar, and Johnny, one for each for you. . .

. . . I can't agree with Archie that if Max weren't running unopposed any capable opposition candidate could beat him. It's true that his decision to cancel the Bas Lake Fishing Tournament last summer over a polio scare wasn't popular with the town's merchants. It's also true that the miners weren't pleased when he called in the O.P.P. to protect the strikebreakers Mr. Bridgeman and the Silverdome Mining Company board of directors brought in behind Mother's back to quell labor unrest last summer. If she had been recovered enough from her stroke to resume active control of the business, she never would have allowed such a thing from her business colleagues.

Be that as it may, the merchants know that Max did what he thought was necessary to protect New Bedford from a polio outbreak. The miners I have talked to grudgingly accept that Max didn't approve of Mr. Bridgeman's actions any more than Mother did when she learned about them. However, when Mr. Bridgeman appealed to him for police protection for the strikebreakers, he had a duty to provide it.

The miners also haven't forgotten that it was Max's son Hub who came up with the compromise of paying part of their salaries in stock that averted violence and made it possible for them to go back to work. I wish I had been in New Bedford to see that. Hub could do a fine job of running the mine someday. I almost wish he weren't so determined to become a priest.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan December 2, 1936

. . . Today has been an eventful day. Max won a full term as mayor. How he is going to balance his duties as principal and teacher with the demands of public office is beyond me. He is going to need all the support that Honey can give him, not that she doesn't have plenty of responsibilities herself with her beauty parlor to run and four children to raise.

It is very good of you to want to come to Toppy's wedding. Certainly, Grace would be overjoyed to see her favorite cousin. I know it won't do the least bit of good to remind you that you are 92 years old, that the journey from Nova Scotia is long and exhausting, and that the excitement of the ceremony and reception would probably be too much for you. At least consider that it would be terribly unfair to Toppy to have to postpone her wedding so that we can all attend your funeral.

Grace informs me that Hal Lane's inquiries among the miners indicate that they would be receptive to efforts to help the Spanish Republic. Many told him that they admire his son for joining the International Brigades to fight Fascism. Archie is less optimistic about the town merchants and professionals since Max will be involved in what Grace has planned. Some may not be able to overlook their resentment at the business they lost because of his cancellation of the Bas Lake Fishing Tournament last summer. Some, like hardware merchant Phil Hamlin, are just too rigidly conservative to help Communists even if the alternative is worse. However, Archie believes he can drum up enough support in that quarter to make it worth the effort.

It was good of Grace to have Maisie over to Toppy's house to listen to records on the phonograph she brought from Van's apartment in Toronto. Apparently, it uses the new diamond tipped needles that don't ruin a record by wearing out the grooves the way steel tipped ones do. I hate to think of Grace and Maisie using such a splendid technological advance to play jazz. I don't say that all syncopated music is bad. "Solace" by Scott Joplin is exquisitely beautiful. Nonetheless, whenever music is performed in low and disreputable places you will find syncopation involved somewhere.

Next Post: Family tensions


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring December 5, 1936

. . . As a Catholic, Honey has always had strong reservations about the Spanish Republic. She doesn't approve of my support for it or Mother's or Max's. However, we have maintained an uneasy truce. Max, Mother, and I agree that the Republic could have dealt less severely with the Church in the past and that the murders of hundreds of priests and nuns by its supporters at the beginning of the war were wrong. To Honey's credit, she is as sickened as we are by the fascists' massacres of civilians and prisoners of war in every village, town, and city they take, especially the crowning slaughter at Badajoz. The fact that the first people the fascists shoot on such occasions are public schoolteachers like Max may have influenced her thinking.

For the sake of family harmony, we have kept our disagreements on this issue civil since you joined the International Brigades. We have managed to avoid any heated arguments until today. Then the storm broke. . . It is late as I write this. The moon shining through my window is as lonesome as it was long ago when I gazed at it with a heart full of longing and wondered if I would ever find my true love. I can't help but miss you. . .

From the Journal of Honey Sutton December 5, 1936

It's bad enough that Grace intends to campaign in New Bedford for the Canadian Committee to Aid Spanish Democracy. I can't believe that she persuaded Max to join her or that Max let himself be persuaded. What kind of a democracy murders people for practicing their religion? Even if Grace is right in saying that the government of the Republic has reined in the Communist and Anarchist militias since the summer, its anticlerical policies are largely responsible for inflaming their hatred of the Church in the first place. What kind of Catholic home do I have where the father openly supports such a government?

Not that Franco and his cronies are any better, no matter what the Catholic Register says. There are too many stories of their crimes from too many reliable witnesses and correspondents for me to believe otherwise. Besides, people who claim to be defenders of religion shouldn't have a persecutor of religion like Hitler for an ally. It seems to me that there is no right side in this war. I understand that Grace wants to support her husband, but she can write to him and send him comforts like any other wife with a husband at war. After the blazing fight we had today over the issue, I'm not looking forward to facing her at Sunday dinner.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan December 9, 1936

The preparations for Archie and Toppy's wedding are proving a strong spur to a lot of people to put aside their differences starting with me. I wouldn't have thought that anything could persuade me to accept the presence of Bob's hussy at the affair. However, Grace dug in her heels on the subject. I can hear her now. "Toppy wants her daughter to attend her wedding. Doris isn't coming without her father and Bob isn't coming without his wife. You will write to Bob telling him that you want to mend fences. When he and his wife come here, you will smile and behave yourself. You will be gracious and welcoming. No matter what you think of Bob's wife, you will make her feel like part of the family because that is what she is now whether we like it or not."

I protested that she was a woman of low morals who had an affair with Bob while he was still married to Toppy. I couldn't possibly associate with someone like her and hold my head up. Grace gave me a stare colder than some of the winters John and I lived through in our prospecting days. I couldn't believe what she said next. "You will associate with her and you will hold your head up no matter how much this hurts your precious pride. Toppy's wedding will be a special day for her. I won't let you ruin it with childishness and resentment. If you try, I will have Juanita announce that you aren't feeling well and wheel you away. You will spend the rest of the day in your room until it's over."

I was so shocked that all I could do was blurt out "you wouldn't."

Grace refused to yield an inch. She warned me in a tone that brooked no argument not to put her to the test. I know when someone is trying to overawe me by bluff and bluster. Grace wasn't. As sure as I am putting pen to paper now, she meant every word.

"I know this is hard for you," she said in a kinder tone, "but it's even harder for Toppy. You should have heard some of the things she said about that woman when she was crying on my shoulder during the divorce. If she can tolerate her for the good of this family, then so can you."

I couldn't argue with Grace on that point. I promised that I would make peace with Bob and be civil with his wife for Toppy's sake and I am not one to break my promises. There was a time that Grace would never have dared speak to me like that. I have no idea where she learned to be so stubborn and unreasonable. I will have to admit that Grace is at least trying to practice what she preaches. You can feel the chill when she and Honey are in a room together, but they manage to be polite to each other and a good thing too. It wouldn't do to have Toppy's matron of honor and one of her bridesmaids at each other's throats. I feel sorry for Max. It can't be easy for him being caught in the middle between his wife and his friend.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring December 10, 1936

We are in New York. Soon, we will be on our way to Spain. Will says his mother appreciates the sage tea you brought from Roolie for her rheumatism.

. . . I have met some of the American volunteers for the International Brigades. I have to admit I wasn't very impressed. Most of them are straight out of college and not much older than Will. It was fun to see these campus Communists gawp at the Canadians. This may be the first time some of them have met actual proletarians. Still, I should give them a fair chance. From what Father told me, the collegians he served with in the Rough Riders gave a pretty good account of themselves, even the ones from Harvard. . . It's strange that the moon seems lonesome to you. I find it comforting in its serenity. The thought that its pale light shines down on us both makes me feel closer to you.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry December 10, 1936

. . . I was sitting in my chair at Honey's beauty salon waiting for my hair to dry when Althea Bridgeman came in for her own appointment. If the three of us hadn't been the only ones in the place, I don't think she would have asked Honey if it were true that Max was considering raising money for the Spanish Republic. Honey coolly told her to ask me. I'm the one who's working with him on that.

It's a good thing that we women don't have to shave our faces. The way things are between Honey and me right now, I'm not sure that I'd trust her with a razor at my throat. What Mrs. Bridgeman had to tell me wasn't any help. Apparently, her husband and more than a few respectable citizens of New Bedford don't approve of what Max, Archie, Mother and I are proposing. Right now, it isn't more than talk, but she isn't sure what will happen if we take action.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton December 11, 1936

Hub tells me that according to Laura Bridgeman, her parents had a heated discussion over whether or not they should even attend Archie and Toppy's wedding. To her credit, Mrs. Bridgeman made it clear that she would be attending as Toppy's bridesmaid whether Mr. Bridgeman went or not. Mr. Bridgeman grudgingly backed down. Laura isn't too pleased with what Grace, Max, and Archie are planning either, but thinks that her mother is right to stand by her friend.

Max admitted that Mr. Grady had given him a similar warning to the one Mrs. Bridgeman gave Grace, only not as friendly. I'm afraid that we had sharp words over what he and Grace are planning. It just isn't worth the chance of endangering his job. It hurts so much to fight with Max like this, especially since he isn't trying to do harm. He honestly believes that he's protecting all of us from a real threat to civilization. I have no love for Franco, Mussolini, or Hitler, but I just don't believe that they are as dangerous as he thinks they are or that it's our responsibility to stop them.

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring December 15, 1936

. . . I am glad that you were able to see your sister and younger brother again and that they understand that you are turning over a new leaf. After spending over a decade with no contact with my brother Jack, I know how much it means to you to reunite with them after all this time. I am sorry that Jane was unable to bring her children to meet you. Nieces and nephews are some of life's greatest joys.

. . . Mother's progress in recovering from her stroke is amazing. She is walking for longer and longer periods before returning to her chair. In a month or two, she won't need the chair at all. Juanita has done wonders for her. We will miss her wry wisdom when, as seems likely, she leaves us in a few months to nurse a new patient. Her trustworthiness and discretion since the summer have been a blessing to this family. Both she and Maisie are tremendously impressed by Norman Bethune's recent work in Spain, particularly his innovation of mobile blood transfusion units to save lives on the battlefield. Max, Archie, Hal Lane, Mother, and I are already planning to raise funds for one once the wedding is over and Archie has returned from his honeymoon.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry December 17, 1936

. . . Sunday dinner was interesting. We had Jim Flett and his son Pritchard as guests. I found myself in the middle of a squabble between Pritchard and Fat, I mean Henry. I keep forgetting that he doesn't want to be called by his old nickname anymore. Henry was teasing Pritchard about his love of what H.G. Wells would call scientific romance although Pritchard prefers the new term science fiction. I don't think I helped things by pointing out to Henry that he went through a ray guns and bug-eyed-monsters phase of his own not so long ago. Pritchard took exception to hearing his favorite reading described in those terms. He informed me that while there is an element of fantasy in science fiction, authors like Stanley G. Weinbaum and Murray Leinster primarily speculate on the effect of new technology and new discoveries on humanity.

Unfortunately, Henry and Pritchard haven't been on the best of terms since they both fell head over heels for Rebecca Graham. Rebecca has decided that the situation is like something out of a romantic movie where two dashing suitors vie for the hand of the glamorous heroine. She has been absolutely shameless in making the most of it. I don't think she means any harm. She just likes the attention. She reminds me of another slightly daffy redheaded teenager I knew in high school who always had two or three beaus on her string. Today, Marjorie Behan is Marjorie Jefferson and a loyal and loving wife to my dear friend Ollie. Hopefully, Rebecca will turn out just as well in the end.

Bob and his wife and Doris arrived here yesterday. They are staying at the New Bedford Inn although Mother was generous enough, with a little prodding, to offer to put them up. However, the refusal of the invitation was polite. When they came over for dinner, Mother managed to avoid showing more than mild discomfort and Bob held his temper rather than take umbrage. Diana proved to be the pleasant person I remembered from our two previous meetings. Her genuine affection for Bob and his for her couldn't have been more obvious. Hopefully she will be a better wife to him than he was a husband to Toppy.

Doris was dressed to the nines and looking every moment as though she desperately wanted to be someplace less shabby and provincial like a Siberian coal mine or a leper colony. I didn't doubt that the glamour of her wardrobe had a lot to do with her milking her father's guilt over the divorce for all it was worth. Of course, she has been wrapping him around her little finger since she was five.

She was barely polite to Archie and pointedly ignored Juanita. She told me afterwards that she couldn't believe that Toppy was marrying a dreary, commonplace pharmacist. She knows that her grandparents came from modest beginnings, but surely the family has risen above trade by now. I wanted to slap her. Instead, I explained to her that Archie was an honest, thoughtful, goodhearted man who loved her mother very much. If she were lucky, maybe she would have a husband like him one day.

She actually had the nerve to say that someone whose husband left her to go to war when he didn't have to shouldn't be talking about marriage. I admit that I was a little short with her. I told her that a spoiled brat who has never worked a day in her life, constantly disregards others' feelings, and thinks that she can get whatever she wants by wheedling and whining shouldn't be talking to anyone about anything. I had no idea that Mother was in the kitchen doorway until I heard a firm "well said, Grace" coming from behind me.

"Come with me, Doris." she continued darkly. "We need to have a talk with your father about your behavior tonight."

I don't know what Mother told Bob or what both of them told Doris but it must have been effective given that Doris apologized to me the next day.

Next Post: A wedding. Grace makes a decision.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

From the Journal of Honey Sutton December 18, 1936

I hope that Toppy and Archie's wedding will make Hub think even more seriously about whether or not he really wants to be a priest. If he does become one, I will be very proud, but he will be giving up a lot and he needs to understand that. I wish Joe could be with us this Christmas Day. I understand that he has to be with his new fighter Toby "the Manitoba Mauler" Pole when he makes his Toronto debut on the Saturday night afterwards. Nonetheless, my brother hasn't been in New Bedford in four years and I miss him terribly.

From New Bedford Chronicle December 23, 1936

Marriage

At 1st Presbyterian Church last Saturday, Mrs. Geraldine Bailey, only child of the late Mr. and Mrs. Michael Brown of New Bedford, became the bride of Archibald Attenborough, son of the late Mr. and Mrs. Chester Attenborough also of New Bedford. The bride was attended by her matron of honor Mrs. Vanaver Mainwaring, her bridesmaids Mrs. Lawrence Bridgeman, Mrs Max Sutton, and Miss Doris Bailey, and flower girl Violet Bailey. The groom was attended by best man Mr. Theodore Attenborough of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan and groomsmen Mr. William Attenborough also of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Mr. Max Sutton, and Mr. James Flett. Rev. Peter Hall officiated. The happy couple will reside in New Bedford.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry December 21, 1936

The wedding actually came off. By and large, everyone behaved well. Rifts were papered over and sleeping dogs let lie. Doris looked a little disgruntled, but mostly held her tongue and did her duty. She even sounded halfway sincere when she wished Archie and Toppy happiness at the wedding supper. Maisie did her best not to let Doris' haughty attitude towards her, her Toronto slum background, and her career ambitions get too far under her skin.

Mother and I did have to intervene and make both of them apologize and make up after their one spat. Doris made a nasty remark about Maisie's late mother. Maisie retaliated by suggesting that perhaps, when she became a doctor, she could operate to remove Doris' inflated opinion of herself. They did manage to keep the peace after that. Honey actually seemed glad to tap my glass as we toasted happy marriages. I admit to feeling a twisting in my stomach then as I wondered if Van and I would be able to put our marriage back together or if the war would even allow us the chance.

Thank heaven Henry lightened the mood soon after. He suggested that if New Bedford were a kingdom like the ones Max taught about in school this would be a marriage between powerful noble families or maybe even a royal marriage. Mother would be queen of course, Bob and I would be the prince and princess, and Toppy would be a member of the royal family by a previous marriage. Max broke all of us up by asking wryly if Archie would be the Duke of Pharmaceuticals. Henry told him not to joke. Our family controls the mine. Max is mayor and principal and Archie is a councilman and president of the merchants' association. We run practically everything that matters in this town.

I pointed out that the Cramps run the newspaper, the hotel, and the radio station and Mr. Graham manages the bank. Henry jokingly dismissed them as lowly commoners to whom we didn't have to pay any attention. I warned him not to let them hear him say that. I have to work for Mrs. Cramp and it would be hard to run the mine without our line of credit from the bank. Henry conceded that I had a point but we do run an awful lot of this town. I couldn't resist asking him what we should do with all that power. Perhaps raise an army of knights and ride out to conquer Northbridge. Henry replied that someone should after the beating they gave our high school hockey team the last time we played.

The ceremony itself was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Toppy was as radiant as a bride should be as she walked down the aisle. Archie was beaming as he waited for her. Violet was absolutely darling as she walked in front of Toppy strewing rose petals in her path. I admit that I cried a little. Toppy has been through so much in the past three years. If anyone deserves this kind of happiness, she does. . .

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

When Archie and Toppy departed on their honeymoon, I was left alone in Toppy's house. The place was far too quiet without Toppy's warmth and cheerfulness. That would change when she and Archie returned, but I wouldn't be there to see it. I had no intention of being the crowd to their company. A newly married couple should have the first months of their marriage to themselves. Both had been very generous in telling me that they wouldn't hear of me leaving and that the house was as much my home as theirs. When they pleaded with me to stay, I told them that I would consider it, but I knew even then what I would have to do.

On the evening of the second day after the wedding, I packed up my things and left a note for them. Then I drove over to the New Bedford Inn and checked into a room. Mrs. Cramp was at the desk as she usually was when not busy at CRNB. She liked to keep an eye on all of the businesses she and her husband owned. Naturally, she wanted to know what I was doing there only a few days before Christmas. I think she was disappointed when I told her the truth straight off. She would have preferred to worm it out of me through relentless interrogation.

Robert Bailey to Grace Mainwaring December 22, 1936

It was wonderful to see you again. I am so relieved that Mother and I have begun to patch up our differences. I am hopeful that we can go even farther in this direction in the near future. Keep it under your hat, but Hugo Gerrard may not be a sticking point between us for very much longer. . . I have to apologize again for Doris' bad behavior. Please, try to understand. The divorce was hard on her and seeing her mother married to another man only drives home for her the fact that things are never going to be the way they were again.

I appreciate the efforts that Maisie and Toppy's assistant, Rebecca Graham, made to be friendly to Doris. It was good to finally meet Maisie. Underneath her rough edges, she has a warm heart and a sound character. Rebecca is a sweet girl and her father seems to have a better grasp of business than his predecessors as manager of the New Bedford branch of the Royal Dominion Bank. I'm sorry her mother was feeling indisposed and couldn't make it to the ceremony. I would have liked to have met her. . .

I thought that Archie purchasing half ownership of Toppy's house was an elegant solution for the problem of where they would live after they marry. No one will call Archie a kept husband while Toppy doesn't have to give up all of the independence that the house means to her. I suppose that you'll be paying half your rent to Archie from now on. . .

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

Two nights after leaving Toppy's house, I walked out through the front door of CRNB, pulling my overcoat tightly to me against the brutal chill. The town square was empty of everything except a handful of cars and a cold and sterile blanket of snow. If it hadn't been for three or four lighted windows, I could have imagined that everyone else in New Bedford had vanished and I was the only living person there.

My thoughts as I walked were of Toppy and Archie's newfound happiness and the steady affection that endured between Max and Honey even when they were at loggerheads. They should have been comforting. Instead, they only intensified my longing for Van. Our marriage may have been of shaky legality because he married me under a false name, but emotionally it felt as real as the pavement beneath my feet. That Van had been understanding enough of the tentative state and uncertain future of our still healing relationship to forgo certain marital joys when we were last together only strengthened my feelings for him.

As I approached the New Bedford Inn, I saw a familiar sedan parked in front. I was sure that I was mistaken, but on closer examination, I recognized the dents and scratches on the fenders and running boards. Mother's driving being what it was, there were a lot of them. I rushed down the sidewalk and into the hotel. My mother was waiting patiently for me in the lobby, Juanita by her side. Juanita was apologetic. She told Mother that she shouldn't be going out so late after a strenuous day of Christmas preparations but Mother had to see me. When Mother remained adamant, Juanita reluctantly gave in. I asked Mother why she was there.

"I know things have been hard for you lately," she began gently. "You've suffered terribly. I worry about you. You shouldn't spend the Christmas season by yourself in a lonely hotel room. You should be with your family. Please, come home."

"But, Mother. Aren't things crowded enough with Maisie and Juanita there and Cousin Jessie staying over the holidays."

"There will always be room for you in my house and in my heart, Grace, for as long as I live."

"That's . . . very kind of you, Mother. It's just that coming home to you with my marriage so unsteady would make me feel like such a failure."

"You are not a failure, Grace. Van is far more responsible than you for the problems in your marriage. Frankly, I think that you are being very generous in trying to rebuild what he almost destroyed by his betrayal."

"Mother! I've forgiven him for that just as he's forgiven me for my stupid attempt at revenge."

"I know. I accept that, but I can't help being like any other mother. It hurts me to see my child hurting. It is difficult to forgive the person responsible even if he has tried to make amends for his conduct."

"As long as he keeps trying, he deserves my support."

"I don't say he doesn't. You haven't chosen an easy path, waiting for him to come back from a war and hoping to be able to salvage your marriage when he does. You don't have to walk it alone."

"I'm grateful, but I have to stand on my own two feet."

"No one doubts your ability to do that after what you've achieved at CRNB, not even me anymore. You've been good to others often enough when times were hard. Let us be good to you now that you need it. Come home, at least over Christmas." A mischievous glint came into her eye. "If you find me too overbearing, you can always move back here."

Next Post-in two weeks: Grace for the Republic. Max takes a stand.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

Max, Mr. Lane, Rev. Clark Grange of the New Bedford United Church and I held one last meeting on the afternoon of Christmas Eve Day to finalize our plans to rally as much of New Bedford as we could to support the Republic. After less than thirty minutes, everything was in place for us to start after New Years as soon as Archie returned from his honeymoon. All of us were anxious about the possible consequences to ourselves and to the community of unleashing such a potent controversy. However, none of us could see an alternative. A Europe or, God forbid, a world dominated by Hitler and his fellow fascists was unthinkable. It felt strange to be preparing for war while the rest of New Bedford celebrated the birth of the Prince of Peace.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton, December 25, 1936

May Bailey has never been a very demonstrative person, but lately, if you look closely, you can see a certain quiet joy in her. I think it means a great deal to her that Grace agreed to return home, even if only over the holidays. It was good of her to ask Hub to give the blessing before we sat down to Christmas dinner. The hope he expressed for the ending of strife and the healing of wounds was inspiring.

Grace was as excited as a little girl when Van called her from New York. She couldn't take hold of the receiver fast enough. Her smile as they talked was glowing. It took me back to my first days with Jack when there was nothing else in the world but the two of us and even the briefest separation was torture. Just to see him was to think, "here is the man I will love until I die."

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry December 26, 1936

I hope that you and Mark and the kids had a terrific Christmas. Rose and Eric are adorable in the latest pictures you sent me. I can't believe how fast they are growing, especially Rose. She looks more and more like you did when you were her age. I wonder if she'll try to dress her kitten in her old baby clothing like her mother once did? The way things are now, I hardly dare hope that someday I will be sending you pictures of my children and Van's.

From Van's letters and our meetings, I am sure that he wants to mend our marriage as much as I do. If only the fascists and their damned war hadn't come along. Still, it is a comfort and a blessing to have my loved ones with me. Ever since the preparation for Toppy and Archie's wedding, we have all worked hard to suspend our disagreements and resentments for the sake of the family.

. . . Before I went to bed on Christmas Eve, I prayed that the harmony and goodwill we were enjoying would survive the tempest I know is brewing in New Bedford over the coming effort to support the Republic in its struggle against fascism. I prayed that God would watch over Van and his friends through their coming ordeal, regardless of the fact that many of them are atheists.

PS Many thanks to you and Mark for the generous donation to the New Bedford Mobile Blood Transfusion Unit Fund. Between you and Bob and Mother, we are off to a good start even before the official opening of the campaign.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring December 28, 1936

. . . I have my new passport. I still find it hard to believe that Vanaver Mainwaring is now my legal name. I would say that I couldn't possibly make worse use of it than the person who had it last if I hadn't already done so. . .

From the Journal of Honey Sutton December 30, 1936

I don't know how I am supposed to hold my head up as a Catholic. It was bad enough that I got so many dirty looks at the ladies' sodality meeting today or that Maureen Corcoran made that snide remark afterwards about how difficult mixed marriages can be. Father Fitzroy paid us a visit this evening. He told Max that he respected his good work as a teacher and didn't doubt his devotion to our family. His care of the children while I was away at the sanatorium was exemplary.

However, he was setting a bad example as the father of a Catholic family by his support for the Spanish Republic, especially for Hub. Hub has a real vocation to become a priest and it doesn't help him to have a father who works with the Church's enemies in Spain. Fr. Fitzroy doesn't expect Max to support Franco who he admits leaves much to be desired as a champion of Christianity. Couldn't he at least consider withdrawing from Grace's fundraising efforts?

Max was polite and respectful in his refusal. He expressed his admiration for Fr. Fitzroy's work to feed and clothe the destitute during the worst days of the Depression. He even thanked him for the spiritual consolation he offered me when I learned after Zack's birth that I couldn't have any more children. However, he believes that someone like Franco, who corrupts the church from within by persuading it to support mass murder and oppression in common cause with dictators like Hitler and Mussolini, is a far worse enemy to it than any open persecutor. People like that have to be fought. He believed that when he went to war against the Kaiser and he believes it now.

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring, December 31, 1936

. . . Your brother Lionel's gift was extravagant even coming from an antiques dealer. It caused quite a stir when I showed it to the rest of the family on Christmas Day. None of us had ever seen a real Empire clock outside of the movies. The bronze of Cupid crowning Psyche is too beautiful for words. It was sweet of him to write in the note that came with it, "I hope that you will see in this image of love triumphant my own wish for future happiness for you and my brother."

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry January 2, 1937

. . . At first, Mr. Cramp refused to run the advertisement for next Saturday's fundraising rally in the Chronicle or to print the flyers for it. He wasn't about to help distribute Bolshevik propaganda. I showed him the list of speakers. He conceded that none of them, especially my mother and Dr. Barlow, could be considered Communists. I mentioned that I could always use the mimeograph machine at the mine office to print the flyers. People would hear about the rally and attend anyway. Still, I admired his willingness to sacrifice perfectly good advertising revenue for the sake of principle. Not every newspaperman would have that kind of integrity.

I have to give him credit. I almost made it all the way out the door before he called me back. He explained that perhaps he was being a little hasty. Maybe there was something to be said for letting the good people of New Bedford hear all sides of such an important issue. We settled on a reasonable price and he promised that the flyers would be ready on Monday and the advertisement would be in Wednesday's paper.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton January 4, 1937

. . . It's bad enough that Grace's campaign on behalf of the Spanish Republic could cost Max his job as teacher and principal. Now she has Henry and Hub putting up flyers for her blasted rally. Arguing with Max about it didn't do any good. Normally, he's the most easygoing guy I know, but when he's convinced that he's doing the right thing, he can be even more stubborn than May Bailey.

The prospect of Max going before the school board has me terrified. It wouldn't be so bad if Iris Barlow were still a trustee, but Charlie Blaine has been Mr. Grady's fishing companion for years. Also Max and Joe Willis have never gotten along. I'm absolutely certain that they are going to fire Max. How are we going to support four children if that happens? If Max could sell his writing, our situation wouldn't be so bad, but his autobiographical play Miner's Son has already been rejected by five producers.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

I felt like a heel. It was easy for me to tell Honey that Max was an adult and that he decided for himself to help me raise money for the Republic. I wasn't the one who would have to support four kids on Honey's modest profits from her beauty parlor and Max's even more slender salary as mayor if the school board fired Max. Not to mention give up the correspondence courses Honey was taking.

That my own job at CRNB was secure in spite of Mrs. Cramps' grumbling because she didn't want to hire an inferior replacement or try to do her own announcing didn't ease my conscience at all. However, for Mr. Grady and his cronies to threaten Max's family with hardship in order to silence him was cowardly and dishonest. To have given in to them would have been to make freedom of speech in New Bedford a privilege for people of whom they approved.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring January 4, 1937

New York is behind us now. A half moon glows softly among the bright stars. Its beams turn the waters below to silver. I know it's corny, but I really do wish that I could give you the moon and all the stars wrapped together in brightly colored paper for a Christmas present. Maybe someday I'll find a way to do just that. . .

From the Journal of Honey Sutton January 5, 1937

Mother Bailey tells me that she has done her best to lobby the school board trustees to keep Max on. Mr. Grady gave her a nasty lecture on Max's "dangerous radical politics." The rest politely promised to give her appeals due consideration which could mean anything. I have asked some of the parents whose children Max teaches to speak to the trustees in Max's favor. So has Grace and most have promised to do so. I wish I could be sure that our efforts will be enough to crack what looks like a solid three vote majority for getting rid of Max.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan January 6, 1937

Juanita's worry that there was no way for me to get up the steps of City Hall to attend the New Bedford School Board meeting proved unfounded. Among the cross section of the townspeople Grace and Honey rounded up to speak for Max were several miners just getting off shift. They managed to lift my chair with me in it over the steps of the portico. I hoped that the fact that the School Board was inviting public comment was a good sign. Max stood his ground admirably. Mr. Grady chastised Max for working with Communists. "There is a reason," he pontificated, "that the Communist Party is effectively banned in Canada."

"Yes," Max shot back, "because Prime Minister Bennett needed a distraction from his failure to deal with the Depression. If you don't like what people who don't share your political views have to say, you argue against them. You don't use the law the way Hitler's storm troopers use their clubs."

"Do you imagine that Stalin would feel the same way about his political opponents?"

"No, which is one reason why I'm not a Communist. However, this is Canada. As a democracy, we should be better than that. If one of my teachers wanted to raise money for Franco on his own time the way some Catholics are doing in the United States, I might disagree with his actions, not to mention his politics. However, I wouldn't fire him. I don't think I'm being unreasonable in expecting the same tolerance for myself."

From the Journal of Honey Sutton January 6, 1937

. . . I knew Max was well liked, but I was still surprised at how many of our neighbors came forward to speak to the School Board. Max's defenders included merchants, miners, and professional men. Apparently Max is respected as a person and as a teacher by more people than I ever knew. Mr. Greely, the grocer, gave Max credit for inspiring his son Andy with a love of history that led him to teach the subject as an adult. Mrs. Macdonald was grateful to Max for the help he gave her daughter Joan when she was struggling in the same subject. Rev. Grange gave a glowing testimonial to Max's character.

Even Mrs. Whitney, Max's predecessor as principal, sent a statement from her sickbed urging the trustees to keep him on. That a woman who lost all three of her sons in the Great War is willing to accept Max supporting another war because of her respect for him as a colleague says a lot. I couldn't have been more proud of Max hearing about all the good he's done as a teacher and civic leader for this community and its children. I was glad to see that the trustees seemed impressed.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry January 7, 1937

. . . We were all on pins and needles waiting for the trustees to make their decision. Poor Honey radiated tension. I felt that it was a good sign that the trustees were so attentive when Rev. Grange assured them that the rally this Saturday was for humanitarian purposes only. Still, we could only hope that all of the appeals on Max's behalf would be enough to break Mr. Grady's three vote majority. All eyes were on the trustees as they returned to the City Council chamber after retiring to discuss the issue. A vote was taken. A staggering weight lifted from my shoulders when School Superintendent LeClaire announced that the trustees had voted 3-2 not to dismiss Max. I can only imagine the kind of relief that Honey must have felt.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton January 6, 1937

. . . I wish I had been less grudging in thanking Grace for helping Max keep his job. However, I just couldn't forget that if she hadn't decided to raise the town in support of the Spanish Republic, it would never have been in jeopardy in the first place. I couldn't stop myself from scolding her. "Do you know what Henry told me the other day? He said he wished that he were old enough to join up and fight the fascists himself."

Grace's solemn reply sent a chill through the very center of my soul. "If Van and his comrades don't win in Spain, he may have to."

Next Post: Hub has troubles. Laura has questions. A torch is passed.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Grace Mainwaring to Van Mainwaring January 9, 1937

. . . When I ran into Joe Willis on the sidewalk yesterday, I thanked him for voting to keep Max as principal and couldn't resist asking him why given his previous doubts about Max's politics. Hearing about the good Max has done as a teacher helped. However, it was the knowledge that a respectable minister like Rev. Grange was involved in the rally that decided him. He confided further that Mr. Grady was a little too eager to fire Max. His determination seemed more like a personal vendetta at times than a desire to do what was best for the school and the students.

. . . Winter is still very much with us here in New Bedford like a boring guest who won't take even the most obvious hints that it's long past time for him to go. The thought of three more months of icy sidewalks and bone-chilling winds is almost more than I can stand. I don't know how Jim manages to sound so cheerful when he reads the CRNB weather report. At least Maisie, Hub and Henry haven't become too grownup and dignified for the occasional snowball fight. Of course, that may be a mixed blessing since every one of them throws better than I do.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

. . . I was surprised to see Hub on the front porch that Saturday morning. I hadn't expected him to arrive to help with the rally until late in the afternoon. He told me that he had been taking a walk to think some things over and his footsteps had brought him here before he realized where he was headed.

He seemed a little downcast, so I asked him what was troubling him. He had talked with Fr. Fitzroy who, it seemed, was now a little more reconciled to the fact of the rally. Rev. Grange had reassured him that no one was going to recruit for the International Brigades or raise money to arm the Spanish Republic.

Fr. Fitzroy still didn't approve of Hub or any other Catholic attending. He would advise any who asked privately about the subject not to but wouldn't publicly forbid it. Hub would have to search his own conscience and decide what course was best.

I couldn't see what was so awful about what Hub had told me. Hub explained that Fr. Fitzroy had gone on to say that perhaps he had pushed him too hard and too soon toward the priesthood. It might be better if Hub went to school, spent time with his friends, and thought carefully about whether the priesthood was really the life God meant for him.

Hub was certain that he was meant to be a priest, but Fr. Fitzroy thought that they should wait a few months before considering the subject again. If God had truly given him a vocation a little time shouldn't make any difference. I suggested as gently as I could that perhaps Fr. Fitzroy was trying to teach him patience. Hub conceded that that might be the case. He wasn't thrilled with the situation, but he accepted it with less reluctance than most boys his age would have managed.

Unfortunately, there was another problem. Mr. Bridgeman had forbidden Laura to see Hub if Hub attended the rally. Even worse, Laura didn't think she could go against her father. I told him that I was sorry that my actions had made life so difficult for him.

He shrugged off my apologies, telling me that it wasn't my fault that Mr. Bridgeman was being so unreasonable or that Fr. Fitzroy had his doubts about the rally. It was his choice to help me raise money for the Republic and his choice to take the consequences. I told him that he and his brother had done more than enough to help already. He didn't have to attend the rally if it would make it easier for him and Laura. He refused.

"Max says that every new generation has challenges which it has to meet. I think fascism is going to be my generation's challenge. I'm still too young to fight, but I can at least do this for those who are fighting. I owe them that much. I have to go to that rally. I can't let them down." That was when he saw me brushing tears from my eyes. "Are you alright, Aunt Grace? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," I told him sniffing a little. "It's just seeing you so earnest . . . You looked so much like your father when he went off to war. We were all so idealistic then. We were going to set the world right so that your generation wouldn't have to suffer and sacrifice as we were doing." A wave of guilt and sadness swept over me. "I'm sorry we failed."

He put his hands on my shoulders-strong, gentle hands just like his father's. "You didn't fail, Aunt Grace. The diplomats and politicians you trusted to guard the peace failed. They let warmongering dictators like Hitler and Mussolini come to power and now they won't do anything to stop them. I promise you, my generation will stop them if we have to, even if we pay in blood to do it."

I took Hub in my arms and hugged him as tightly as I could. "I pray to God it never comes to that."

Shortly after Hub left, a very upset Laura Bridgeman showed up at the front door asking to see me. This morning was shaping up to be far busier than I had expected.

"You're my last chance," Laura implored. "I've talked to both of Hub's parents, but Mrs. Sutton can't persuade him not to go to the rally and Mr. Sutton won't even try."

"Why do you think I should?"

"Because it isn't worth it. All you're doing is helping a bunch of atheistic Communists persecute the church."

"Is that what your father says?"

"Yes. He says that you and Mr. Sutton are naïve idealists. He admires your loyalty to your husband. He just can't understand why a respectable businessman would volunteer to fight for the Republic. I can't understand it either."

I took her by the arm. "Let me show you something."

We went upstairs and I showed her the scrapbook I was keeping on the war in Spain. By the time she finished reading, she was more than a little shaken, especially by the articles from the New York Times and the Catholic Worker. She had been ready to discount anything from the Toronto Star and not just because of its reputation for sympathy with the far left. The firing of its first Spanish Civil War correspondent, Pierre Van Paasen, for plagiarizing his reports from the work of other journalists hadn't improved its credibility with her. Then I told her what I had learned from my acquaintance on the Star, the same one who had helped me find Van after he joined the International Brigades.

Van Paasen had plagiarized, but he hadn't lied about the events recorded in his stories, only about going to Spain to witness them personally instead of staying in his apartment in Paris. The paper's owner, J.E. Atkinson, had made sure of that and would have published a retraction of anything false. He had also made sure that Van Paasen's successor, Matthew Halton, actually went to Spain and did his own excellent reporting. Even so, I saw to it that every Star article in my scrapbook was accompanied by articles from other papers that confirmed its facts.

Poor Laura was shocked to find that so many of Franco's atrocities that the Catholic Register had assured her were falsehoods or exaggerations had actually happened. She couldn't understand how a Catholic publication's reporting could be so biased. I pointed out that the Register got its news of Spain from the press bureau of the National Catholic Welfare Conference in America.

I suspected that the press bureau's correspondents were only allowed to see and report what the fascists wanted them to or were so embittered by the Republic's mistreatment of the church that they were willing to overlook the fascists' crimes. Laura still couldn't support the Republic, but, after reading about the savagery of the fighting in Madrid and elsewhere, she couldn't blame me for doing anything that might help my husband make it through alive.

"I think I understand you and Hub better," she said. "I still don't understand your husband. Hating fascism is one thing, but why did he feel he had to go to war?"

I told her how Van had been in Germany when Hitler and the Nazis took power. I recounted the insanity he had witnessed. She went pale with horror when I described how Van had seen S.A. thugs beat an old man to death in front of his shop for no other reason than that he was Jewish.

"My God . . .!" Laura exclaimed.

"That wasn't all," I continued. "Van tried to get a policeman to arrest the murderers." Van had admitted to me the last time I saw him that this action on the part of a con artist such as he was at the time showed just how upset he was at what he had seen. Obviously, I didn't mention that to Laura. The policeman refused to make any arrests, explaining that by decree of Interior Minister Hermann Goring, policemen such as himself were forbidden to interfere with the S.A.. "Besides," he added, "we Germans are simply dealing with our Jewish undesirables the way you Americans sometimes deal with your Negro undesirables.'"

Laura looked positively sick on hearing that. I hate to imagine how Van, as an American, must have felt.

"I think Van saw those thugs and that policeman every time he read about Franco's crimes or Hitler's efforts to aid him," I concluded.

"This war isn't as simple as noble Christians versus evil Communists, is it?"

"No. It isn't as simple as noble freedom fighters versus evil fascists either, although the fascists are as evil as human beings can get."

"I don't suppose you're going to persuade Hub not to come to the rally, are you?"

"I can't. He's growing up." I will admit to a pang or two of nostalgia for the lovable little scamp he used to be. "He's reaching the point where he has to decide a lot of things for himself and this is one of them."

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring January 8, 1937

Just dropping you a line. My friends and I are in La Havre. As nearly the only member of our group who has ever been in France before, I have become very popular. Everybody wants to know the necessary French phrases for ordering meals and drinks and asking directions.

Some of my comrades are talking about the pretty girls they intend to meet in Paris. As for me, I'm glad that I belong only to you. I will probably find a good jazz club and enjoy the world's best music while I have the chance. No doubt I'll learn to take bullets and shells in my stride when I'm in Spain, but not being able to listen to jazz is the sort of thing that can wear on a person.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton January 10, 1937

Mass was an ordeal today. Laura tried to talk to Hub. Mr. Bridgeman dragged her away by the arm, telling Hub to stay away from her. When Max tried to persuade him to be more reasonable, he told him that he couldn't believe that he dared show his face in a Catholic church. We got some ugly looks from several people, but after mass, a couple of Catholic miners came up and congratulated Max.

. . . Dr Barlow told me and Max not to take too long visiting with Mrs. Whitney. She seemed to be recovering well from the pneumonia but needed her rest. It was a shock to see one of the most formidable people I knew looking so frail. However, having people to talk to revived her a little.

She politely but firmly brushed aside Max's thanks for helping him keep his job. "I didn't do it for you. I did it for the children of New Bedford. You have many faults, Max Sutton-your questionable politics not the least of them-but this much I can say for you. Before anything else, you always try to do what's best for the children under your care. That quality, even more than professional competence, is what makes you an inspired teacher and a first-rate administrator. It's why I defended you and why I recommended you to succeed me as principal in the first place."

"I don't know what to say," Max exclaimed.

"Don't say anything. When I was a little girl, the world was a far more orderly and tranquil place. Now everything is changing at an impossible speed. I would never have expected airplanes or cinema or women voting. Who knows what kind of world is waiting for today's children? It's up to you to prepare them for it. You have a tremendous responsibility. Live up to it."

"I promise you. I will."

"I know. That makes it easier to take up my niece and her husband on their offer to come live with them in Ottawa. I wish I could continue living on my own, but my health won't allow it. I will miss this town. It could do with a little less prying into neighbors' business and a little more charity, but most of the people in it mean well." The gaze she turned on me was sadder and softer than I was used to from her. "It's always been a good place to bring up children."

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan January 14, 1937

The rally was a great success. We collected the rest of the money we needed for the mobile blood transfusion unit. Grace cut an impressive figure as a public speaker. Her work as a radio announcer has given her a certain poise and confidence in front of a microphone.

I wonder if I was the only one who found it incongruous that the daughter of mine owners was calling on workers to show solidarity with their fellow workers in another country defending themselves against her fellow industrialists. "Workers of the world, unite!" indeed. Granted, the industrialists of Spain are genuinely exploitative not to mention ruthless and unprincipled.

However, she did go a little overboard in characterizing the policy Hub came up with last summer of paying part of the miners' salaries in stock as an experiment in cooperative ownership rather than a temporary expedient to solve a cash flow problem. Thanks to her, it won't be easy to end the policy when our revenues improve.

Grace was sorry to have caused me trouble but didn't think we should end the policy. I had to concede that Hub could be right in believing that employees might be more loyal to the company if it was partly theirs. Grace even redeemed herself somewhat by suggesting a workable compromise.

Her idea was to give the employees the option of returning to being paid all of their salary in cash or continuing to have a part of it paid in stock. I am not so sure about her further suggestion of giving every new employee who has worked for the company a year the option of having part of his salary paid in stock. However, I can't disagree that when we eventually hire the children of the miners who work for us now, their fathers won't want them to have fewer benefits than themselves.

. . . Now that the campaign for the mobile blood transfusion unit is over, Grace will need something to do with her spare time. If she cleans the house a third time, the glare from all the polished surfaces will blind me. Fortunately, I have an idea.

Next Post: Volunteers in Spain. May makes Grace an offer.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry, January 14, 1937

I am still at Mother's house even though the holidays ended two weeks ago. At first, I wasn't sure about the idea. However, I was surprised to find that I didn't feel trapped and lonely as I did when I lived here before. Mother is more patient and less demanding these days. With Juanita and Maisie around, I never lack for company. Maisie, in particular, lifts my spirits with her cheerful, enthusiastic attitude. When we sit in my room listening to Billie Holliday or James Johnson on the phonograph and shooting the breeze, I can forget everything for a while.

Remember when we were Maisie's age and our most immediate problems were passing Mr. White's algebra test and persuading our mothers to let us bob our hair? Even with the war going on, we did have some carefree times. I wish mother weren't so Victorian about Maisie playing jazz in her parlor. It doesn't help that Juanita agrees with her. You would think that a Negro would love a form of music that her people invented. Instead, she cares mostly for church music and considers jazz worldly and tawdry. I love a good hymn myself, but you can hear the voices of the angels just as clearly in a Louis Armstrong trumpet solo or an Eddie Lang guitar riff. God bless Van for fully opening my eyes to such glory.

… I absolutely love the Elgin watch Van had Lionel send me for my birthday. The gold and enamel design is so elegant and stylish that it just takes my breath away. I frequently take it off to look at our initials and the words "Love Forever" engraved on the back in fine flowing cursive. I even put it to my ear sometimes. The soft, steady ticking calms me. Still, I can't help wishing that I were listening to the beat of Van's heart instead. ….

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring January 20, 1937

. . . Our group arrived in Albacete just in time to join the rest of the Canadian and American volunteers being transported by truck to our training camp at a down-at-the-heels hamlet called Villanueva de Jara. Along the way we were informed that someone above us had made the decision, ratified by the men, that our unit was to be called the Abraham Lincoln Battalion. On arrival we found a cluster of mud-daubed houses, filthy alleys and narrow dirt lanes. The only buildings of any size were a convent, a church, and a chocolate factory, all abandoned. We are billeted in the convent and drill daily. I try as best I can to remember my old ROTC training from Groton. I hated my father at the time for insisting on it, but it's sure coming in handy now.

. . . Harry has a way with the village children. He gives them rides on his shoulders and teaches them Negro folk songs learned from his mother and his Uncle Zeke and German folk songs learned from his father. They were wary of him at first but warmed up after it became obvious that he wasn't one of Franco's Moors from Morocco come to rape their mothers and sisters and murder their fathers and brothers.

Mackie isn't bad with them either, but with five brothers and sisters and even more nephews and nieces he's used to having lots of children around. Johnny wishes he had his father's talent with the fiddle. Instead, when he can find someone from the village to act as interpreter, he has to settle for telling the kids some of the tall tales he's regaled us with since New York. I've noticed that he's cleaned up a couple of the saltier ones considerably.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry, January 21, 1937

. . . I have astonishing news today. I wish I could share it with Van, but until he writes me from Spain, I won't know where to send a letter. I haven't heard from him since I received his letter from Le Havre. That was a week ago. He must be in Spain by now. When I think that every passing day brings him and his comrades closer to the battlefield I want to scream.

Fortunately, Mother has arranged for some distraction from my worries. I wasn't sure about her idea at first, but once she explained it to me it made sense. Mother has talked before about getting a private secretary to help ease her workload. Until yesterday, I had no idea that she had me in mind for the position. I couldn't understand why. I'm only a passable typist and I have no shorthand. Mother quickly disposed of both objections.

"I don't need a speed demon," she told me, "and you won't need shorthand to operate a dictaphone."

I was still a bit reluctant. Even if I could do the job, there was no shortage of qualified women who could do it better. Then Mother told me her real reason for wanting me for the position. "I need your help. Thanks to you and Maisie and Juanita, I'm recovering from my stroke. However, we must face the fact that my health is still far from ideal. I need someone to follow me as President of the Silverdome Mining Company. For a long time, I had hoped that someone would be Hub. However, even if he dedicated his every effort to the task starting today, He would need to finish high school and college and do graduate work to become a mining engineer. Afterwards, he would still need a few years of experience in the mining business before I could safely hand the reins over to him. My health won't last that long."

"You aren't asking me to be your successor, are you?"

"No. Even if I were sure you were up to it, I know it's hard for you to make plans with Van away at war."

I was grateful for her consideration. "Thank you. What do you intend to do?"

"There's no choice." She grimaced. "We have to bring in an outsider, someone with experience in the mining industry. We'll take a few months first to make sure that the company stays on its feet now that we've modernized our equipment. Then we'll start to look around. Our choice will begin as vice president and familiarize himself with the workings of the company."

"Where do I come in?"

"Even if you aren't ready to take my place permanently, you've kept well abreast of the state of the business all these years. You've been attending board meetings since 1915. Except for this past summer, I don't think you've missed one since 1921. Not to mention your brief time as company president. By the time you finish working as my secretary, you'll know even more about the company. I need someone I can trust by my side during this process, someone who can see it through if my health fails again."

"It won't fail. Dr. Barlow says that you're making a wonderful recovery."

"If that's his diagnosis, I'll probably be dead in a week. Nonetheless, there is one more reason why I need you to be my secretary. When my successor takes over, someone will have to keep an eye on him and the company on behalf of the family. There is no one I would trust more with this responsibility. Even if you leave New Bedford to make a new life with Van, I don't think I'm asking anything of which you are not capable. Will you do this for me and for the family?"

I detected a glimmer of anxiety in her eyes. Suddenly, she seemed frail and uncertain, not at all the forceful, commanding woman I had known for most of my life. I thought of the burdens she had shouldered by herself all these years for our family and our community. I knew how hard it was for her to swallow her pride and ask for help. I simply couldn't bring myself to refuse her.

Robert Bailey to May Bailey, January 26, 1937

. . . I don't know what to tell Grace in my letters to her to ease her worries. I want to be encouraging about Van's chances, but I know all too well what he's in for. There are no guarantees for him and his comrades any more than there were for me and mine at Ypres or Passchendaele. Care and experience can improve the odds, but I've seen the most careless newcomers survive battles that killed old hands in droves. I never thought that I'd be hoping for a Communist-led fighting force to be disciplined and well-organized, but I never expected my sister's husband to be part of one. Nor did I imagine that the militarism and autocracy my generation thought we'd beaten in the Great War would come back in such a virulent form as fascism.

It is a tremendous relief to be free of all ties to Hugo Gerrard, for Luc Gerrard even more than for me. Neither of us were happy that Hugo was on such good terms with Eugene Berthiaume, owner of L'Illustration Nouvelle, the paper that employed self-styled Canadian Fuhrer Adrian Arcand as an editor. Supposedly, he and Berthiaume had done business together when they were both bootleggers exporting liquor to the United States during that country's experiment with prohibition.

It wasn't until a week ago that Luc told me that his father had admitted to providing Adrien Arcand with a trickle of financial support. He did this not because he believed in Arcand's anti-Semitism, but in order to stay on his good side should the tide turn in his favor. His exact words were, "fascism is a rising tide. We need to be prepared to let it carry us forward."

I've rarely seen anyone as ashamed and disgusted as poor Luc was when he spoke of his father's opportunism. I don't blame him. I can hardly believe that I once called Hugo Gerrard's habitual crooked dealings "good business." True, I was blinded by my gratitude to him for giving me a new start and resentment at you for seemingly never letting me feel that anything I accomplished was good enough. However, the more I try to make a place of my own in the business world the more I see the worth of the lessons about honesty and self-respect which you and Father tried so hard to teach me.

Having Diana as my wife helps. Her kindness and good heartedness make me want to be a better man. When we start our new family, I want our children to have the kind of father they can look up to and respect. Luc and I are taking a chance starting our own company, especially with only one modestly producing mine and two prospects, but at least we can look ourselves in the face in the morning.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring, January 28, 1937

Still waiting for word from you. The mail here is disgustingly slow. . . A band of Irish volunteers was transferred into the Abraham Lincoln Battalion a few days ago from the British Battalion. Most of them are toughs from the Irish Republican Army who seem determined to uphold the Irish reputation for hard drinking and hard brawling. However, their experience of actual combat in their country's revolution against the British and in the civil war that followed could be very useful.

There are a handful of intellectuals and idealists in the Irish contingent. One of them came up to me the other day, a slight, brown-haired kid not much older than Will. I was reading Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass. He offered his opinion that it was a magnificent book. I agreed and mentioned that I had brought it with me when I left New York. It was something by which I could remember America. The kid paid Whitman the compliment of saying that his poetry was one of the things by which everyone would remember America. Then he introduced himself as Charlie Donnelly, from Dublin by way of London.

We shot the breeze for a while and it came out that Charlie was a former undergraduate at University College Dublin turned author, poet, and lecturer for radical causes. When I was his age, I was like most of my contemporaries. The only cause I believed in was fattening my bank account. It's hard to believe the world and I have changed so much in only a decade. Our different generations aside, Charlie and I do have a couple of things in common. We both have strained relations with our fathers, although his seems to be far less unforgiving than mine. He also has a sweetheart at home who he loves and misses terribly. When I think of you, darling, I remember a quatrain from one of his poems that he recited for me. "For hate must die and fear must die/And sorrow is not in the sky/But tho' God crack eternity/ Love lives on."

I'm sure Will would like to have a sweetheart, the way he's always making sheep's eyes at the local girls. Harry and I tell him that he could easily find one willing to take an evening walk with him, if only he wouldn't be so bashful. He's a likable enough kid. He just needs to speak up. Harry already has a girl to keep him company, a young widow. It frustrates him that her mother accompanies them whenever they are together.

May Bailey to Robert Bailey January 29, 1937

. . . I am not cheered by your estimation of Van's chances in this war . . . or surprised. Please, don't breathe a word of it to Grace. She needs our encouragement during this time, not our forebodings. I have lost track of the number of times I have seen her gazing at Van's photograph, her thoughts far across the ocean with the man she loves. I hope that Van is worthy of such devotion. He would be utterly exasperating if his determination to atone for the wrongs he has done wasn't so admirable.

I hope that you and Diana are doing the right thing in moving to Toronto. I know that someone has to look after your company's business interests there and Luc Gerrard's experience and connections with the Montreal business community are too valuable for him to be spared. However, it remains to be seen if the scandal caused by the breakup of your previous marriage has died down enough to be overcome. Hopefully, the fact that your new father-in law's friends, the Langton's, are willing to break the ice for you and Diana socially and even sponsor Doris in her upcoming debutante season will be sufficient.

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring February 9, 1937

Congratulations on your corporal's stripe. . . Honey is still cool towards me, but at least we are speaking. . . . Maisie is doing well in her Junior Red Cross courses and in her volunteer work at New Bedford Hospital. As my cooking student she has more enthusiasm than skill. Does your Lincoln Battalion enlist girls like the Republic militias? Based on her performance in the kitchen, Maisie may have some talent with explosives, especially incendiaries. . .

I am glad your Ross rifles were replaced with something that doesn't jam after one shot. They certainly deserve Mackie's disdain. I won't repeat the language my brother Jack used to describe them when he didn't realize that I was in earshot. Not that I blamed him. I don't care for cursing as a rule, but anyone who saw a good friend like Ted Whitney killed because his rifle jammed was entitled to say anything he liked about it.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring February 17, 1937

We are holding a section of the line at the Jarama front now. Harry is downcast at having to leave his young widow. Johnny has been transferred from our company to the Tom Mooney Company, the machine gun section. How he was overlooked until now is beyond me as nearly all the merchant mariners of the battalion have already found their way there. He is to feed the ammunition belt into a Maxim gun.

Next Post in two weeks: A strained friendship. Volunteers at war.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eight

From the Journal of Honey Sutton February 18, 1937

Toppy came in for her hairdressing appointment today. She asked if I couldn't be a little friendlier towards Grace. "Grace isn't an enemy. She's the woman who looked after Hub and Henry after Jack died and you had to leave New Bedford to find work."

"I'm grateful, but these days it seems that everything she does hurts my family."

Toppy looked at me like I was a stubborn child. "Have you noticed that Henry is actually making progress in getting his schoolmates to call him Henry since Pritchard stopped calling him Fat at every opportunity?"

"Yes. Henry said he stopped because Rebecca insisted."

"And why do you think Rebecca did that?"

"Because you asked her to and she's grateful to you and Dr. Henken for finding that specialist in phobias to treat her mother."

"And who do you think suggested that I ask Rebecca?"

I could have kicked myself for being so dense. "Grace. I had no idea."

Toppy let me off easy. "Well, Grace never has been one to toot her own horn."

I met Grace later that day on the sidewalk. I was leaving the beauty shop early to do a little grocery shopping. She was on her way to CRNB to prepare for the evening shift. I wanted to thank her for what she did for Henry and tell her how much I appreciated her friendship no matter what our disagreements.

However, I thought of the Republican attacks on the church and Hub moping around because both the priesthood and Laura Bridgeman seem out of his reach. I just couldn't make myself do more than exchange polite small talk. God, give me the strength to do better. Family shouldn't be separated like this.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring February 24, 1937

The battalion had its first taste of fighting yesterday. My squad advanced a short distance through trees across an open space and into a vineyard. We had to throw ourselves to the ground behind any cover we could find when our front was swept by machine gun fire. Oscar Saarinen took a bullet in the leg and had to be carried back to our lines.

Lying in the dirt and keeping very still I couldn't help thinking of my grandfather on the rare occasions when he had a little too much cognac. He would tell harrowing stories of the Peninsula Campaign and Gettysburg that gave me nightmares. I remember him saying that a soldier has three enemies on a battlefield. One, the soldiers on the other side, is flesh and blood. The other two, fear and death, are not.

Of these enemies, the worst of them all is fear. You can fight soldiers and you can cheat death, but fear is in you and can only be endured. I thought that I understood my grandfather, but I was wrong. There is no education like a hail of bullets whizzing over your head because someone behind you drew fire by calling for help for the wounded. . .

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan February 25, 1937

Grace is overjoyed to finally be receiving letters from Van on a somewhat regular basis. She is glad that Van has so many reliable companions. However, the news that the battalion is likely to be leaving Villanueva De Jara soon worries her. There is nowhere to go from there but the battlefield.

I try to keep Grace busy with secretarial work when she isn't at CRNB which isn't hard. A mining company doesn't run itself. Grace has proven a capable and conscientious secretary and an attentive pupil for my lessons about the workings of the family business. She even manages to be polite to Mr. Graham and Mr. Bridgeman at board meetings.

. . . I have to agree with Maisie that Dr. Norman Bethune and his companions were nothing short of heroic in their efforts to aid the helpless refugees who were so barbarically shelled, strafed, and bombed by the fascists on the Malaga to Almeria road. Such courage is needed in the face of the savagery which Franco began to cultivate over ten years ago in his war against the Riff in Morocco and is now bringing to full flower.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring February 27, 1937

. . . I think of your lovely face and even lovelier spirit as we wait for the hour to attack. I wish we were living the life we planned when we were courting, building a business and raising a family together. I should concentrate my attention on what's to come, but all I can think of is that I love you so very much. If I should die today or live a hundred years, I will always love you.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring February 28, 1937

Half my company are lying dead among the splintered olive trees [censored] or wounded in the field hospital behind our lines. Mackie Cohen was torn apart by shrapnel. I have just learned that Charlie Donnelly was killed by a bullet through the temple less than thirty yards from the enemy lines. I wonder which I'll miss most, Mackie's humor or Charlie's verses. Without laughter and poetry, life isn't worth much, is it?

. . . It is nothing less than miraculous that Harry Schmitz, Will Lane, Johnny Pike and I made it through without a scratch. [It is a mystery how so frank an account of the disastrous attack by the Abraham Lincoln Battalion on El Pingarron escaped the crackdown ordered by Brigade Command on all news of the event. I can only suppose that because it was written and mailed the day afterwards, it made it through the censorship before the orders were issued. Ed.]

From the Journal of Honey Sutton March 3, 1937

I wasn't pleased that I had to hear from Ollie Jefferson that there was talk at the local Canadian Legion post a month ago of revoking Max's membership for his support of the Spanish Republic. Fortunately, most of the members served with Max in the Great War and understood that he didn't approve of Communism, so the idea never came to a vote. Even so, Max should have told me rather than try to protect me from worry. I'm his wife and that means that I'm supposed to share his troubles.

I just wish that my former sister-in-law weren't the primary cause of so many of them. You would never think that someone so goodhearted could cause so much mischief. After what Van did to Grace, even though his efforts to atone are clearly sincere, I sometimes doubt if he's really worth raising so much chaos in New Bedford. Still, I can't help wondering what I would be willing to do if it were Max fighting in a foreign war.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan March 6, 1937

The look of absolute joy on Maisie's face when she saw her mother's old piano safely ensconced in the basement was worth all the trouble it took to repair and transport the thing without her knowledge. So was Eddie Jackson's glowing pride in his daughter's musical talent. I had my doubts when Grace first proposed the idea, but the end result has more than vindicated her.

It has been a long time since either of us has seen Maisie so happy. With the extra door at the bottom of the basement steps and the room soundproofed like the studio at CRNB, she can pound out her awful modern rhythms to her heart's content.

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring March 12, 1937

You have all my sympathy for the loss of so many of your comrades. I was there with Sally Brewster when the telegram arrived with the news that her brother, Richard, had been killed at Passchendaele, but I doubt even that awful experience compares to seeing friends die before your eyes. I wish I could hold you and comfort you in your grief.

I thank God you are alive and unhurt. The letter you wrote just before the attack terrified me. I read it at the mailbox and stood there stunned until Honey walked up to me. She asked if something was wrong and I answered her. She said gently, "I know we don't see eye to eye about this war, but whoever wins or loses, whatever the rights or wrongs, I hope Van is alright and that he comes back to you safely when it's all over."

I felt tears flowing and didn't care who saw them. Things have been easier between Honey and myself since.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring March 15, 1937

. . . The fascists, some of Franco's Moroccans, attacked our lines yesterday. They managed to take a section of frontline trench [censored.] [The La Pasionaria Battalion and the British Battalion were stationed in trenches to the left of the Abraham Lincoln Battalion and bore the brunt of the attack, Ed.] but failed to break through. In crossing no man's land, they exposed their left flank to us, so we poured fire into it. We continued until the survivors were in the captured trench or fled back to their own lines.

At this point, two crazy Englishmen decided that they were going to retake the lost section of the line. Some of the Lincolns, myself included, followed them when they picked up some sacks of grenades and began to hurl them into the trench occupied by the Moroccans. Every time the Englishmen did this, the Moroccans scrambled over the top into no man's land to keep from being blown up.

Not all of them got out in time. My comrades and I put our rifles to our shoulders and gave the ones that did a taste of what they gave us in the attack on [censored.] It was like shooting grouse only grouse are far smaller and can fly very fast.

So, it went until the Englishmen reached a point where the trench was blocked by a dead mule. One of them, a fearless ex-boxer named Jock Cunningham, tried to climb over the obstacle and was cut down by a burst of machine gun fire. His death ended the counterattack. [Jock Cunningham survived his wounds, but they were obviously severe enough that Mainwaring mistakenly believed them to be mortal. Ed.]

We have built cross-trenches to box the enemy in. Some Moroccans are still in a section of our trenches, but it doesn't look like they are going to be able to do anything but sit tight. [The Moroccans were later forced out of those trenches by the Italian volunteers who made up the Garibaldi Battalion. Ed.] Harry, Will, Johnny, and I are unharmed. This time it was the enemy's turn to bleed. At first, I was very proud of myself and my comrades. However, it is hard to take any satisfaction from the moans and occasional cries of pain from the wounded.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton March 16, 1937

I was glad when Grace told us during Sunday dinner that Charlie Donnelly received a semblance of a decent burial even if it did take ten days to find and retrieve his body. Henry should have shown better judgement than to blurt out, "ten days! He must have stunk something . . . "

Max, May, and I shushed him at virtually the same time. Unfortunately, the damage was already done. Grace was white as a sheet and I could see helpless fear in her eyes.

It had obviously occurred to her that what had happened to Charlie Donnelly could easily happen to Van. When Max told Henry afterwards that he shouldn't be so impulsive, he understood that he had behaved thoughtlessly. He was genuinely sorry that he had upset his aunt.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring March 24, 1937

You wouldn't want to kiss me if you were with me now. The garlic our Spanish replacements chew is very effective in preventing dysentery, but it doesn't do much for the breath. Of course, when you've lived in a trench for weeks, it's hard to find a part of the body that doesn't stink.

I have made considerable progress in learning Spanish. It helps to have actual Spanish speakers to practice on. It really is a beautiful language and a useful one. It allows me to say things like this to you. Tu eres mi luz del amor. Eres la estrella constante que siempre me guiara casa.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan March 26, 1937

Grace continues to work out quite well as my secretary. My only complaint is with her fascination with the experiments in collective industry and agriculture being carried out by the anarchists in Republican Spain. Apparently, the mines there are owned by the workers themselves and run by democratically elected workers committees. So are most of the factories and farms.

I asked her if she really believed that an economy can work without management or private property. She replied that she didn't know, but it might be worth an experiment or two to find out.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry April 1, 1937

… It was a year ago today that I first met Van. I can still see that silly grin he was wearing as he bolted across the street towards me. I think of all the smiles he gave me after that and wish with all my heart that I could see another. I think of the naïve small-town girl in her cozy little world that I was then and I don't recognize myself.

I have learned things I wish I hadn't and done things that have hurt people who are dear to me. The great big world to which I spent so many years longing to escape has come to New Bedford and threatens everything I love. The glamorous fantasies I used to enjoy have been replaced by a frightening reality. I know I'm being gloomy but having your husband in three battles in the space of a month isn't the sort of thing that lightens your mood.

I am not the only one who sees that the world is growing more dangerous. Laura Bridgeman returned the copy of Adolf Hitler's book My Battle [the American edition of the first English translation of Mein Kampf ed.] that I lent her. She looked stunned as she thanked me. I sympathized. I still have a hard time believing that such a power-hungry egomaniac is in charge of an entire country.

Van explained to me and I explained to Laura how the political establishment in Germany arranged for Hitler to be appointed Chancellor. After that, a combination of lies and force was all it took to intimidate the Reichstag into voting him absolute power. The will of the German people, who refused to vote the Nazi Party a majority in any competitive election, was systematically ignored.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring April 6, 1937

Yesterday, Harry received three letters which came as a relief to him. It had been two and a half weeks since the last time he had mail. One was from his parents, a sunny greeting reassuring him that everyone was well. It contained news of his sister, a teacher at a Negro elementary school, and his older brother, a Pullman porter. Another was from his cousin, Gottfried Schmitz.

This one came as a surprise. Neither Harry nor his parents had heard from Gottfried since he fled Germany for France two years ago to escape arrest for his work with the German Communist Party. Apparently, Gottfried joined many of his fellow anti-Nazi Germans in the Thaelmann Battalion late last fall, just after the siege of Madrid. He survived Las Rozas where the Thaelmanns paid a high price in blood in an effort to halt a fascist offensive. He was also at their victory at Trijuete a month ago when the Republic defeated Franco's Guadalajuara offensive.

One of his comrades, on returning from the hospital after being wounded at Trijuete, had told him that according to one of our wounded from February there was a Negro miner from West Virginia named Schmitz serving in the Abraham Lincoln Battalion. Could it be one of the American cousins he had mentioned? Gottfried had written the letter to find out. Before writing a reply, Harry read his third letter. This one was from his sister and revealed that things were not as rosy for his parents as they let on. …

Next Post: Questions in New Bedford. Leave in Madrid. A visitor in the trenches.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

From the Journal of Honey Sutton April 10, 1937

Today, the new Foreign Enlistment Act forbidding Canadians to serve in foreign armies was adopted by an order-in-council. Hopefully, it will discourage the talk Hub has been hearing from a couple of his classmates about wanting to go to Spain to fight in the International Brigades. Hub assures me that it's probably no more than talk. I hope he's right. I'm sure Hub has too much sense to join his friends if they try to volunteer, but I'm just as glad that there isn't much chance of any of them succeeding if they do.

Max wouldn't help them. He is too honest not to keep his promise to the Rev. Grange and others not to recruit. He made that promise with Grace's knowledge and on her behalf, so I don't think that she would break it either. Even so, her connections to the Canadian Committee to Aid Spanish Democracy and the Communist Party would make it easy for her to help any New Bedford boy join the International Brigades.

That fact is not reassuring. Max and Hub are still worried about what might happen if the fascists win in Spain. For myself, I can't believe that anyone, even Hitler and Mussolini, could look at what this war is doing to Spain and consider for a second bringing such a catastrophe to the rest of Europe. It might have been condescending of Max to say that he didn't think that Hitler and Mussolini were as kind-hearted as I am if it hadn't been so obvious that he was genuinely frightened for the future.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry April 12, 1937

I had a difficult encounter with Lawrence Bridgeman today. He asked to talk to me after the board meeting. We stayed behind in the meeting room after the others had left. He told me that he didn't want me talking to Laura or lending her any more books. He accused me of filling her mind with dangerous ideas and turning her away from her religion.

He couldn't understand that his daughter has a right to learn about the world she's living in. Nor could he understand that she might have questions about her religion's place in that world. In his words, "anything she wants to know about those things, she can learn from her parents and her priest. We care about her and have her best interests at heart."

"I don't question your love for her or your wife's. Fr. Fitzroy is a good man. Laura should trust that all of you will do your best for her."

"I'm glad you see it that way. You understand what I'm saying."

"I do. However, Laura shouldn't agree with you-or me-blindly. To do that would be to renounce conscience."

Mr. Bridgeman bristled. "Where do you get that idea?"

"There's no such thing as conscience if we aren't free to ask whether something is right or wrong. Laura is asking those kinds of questions. You should be proud that she cares what the answers are."

"I am and maybe you don't mean her any harm. I just don't want her to be hurt if she finds the wrong answers."

With that he turned and walked away. I couldn't blame him for his concerns. I don't believe in blind disregard for authority. However, I can't help thinking that a little more questioning of authority in Germany and Italy by the last couple of generations could have saved this world a great deal of grief.

On a more cheerful note, Marjorie Jefferson asked me to say hello to you. I had lunch with her on Friday. Little Jacob was with her. He is so adorable with his cute gurgling and wide eyes even if he did drool all over the collar of my new jacket. Adopting him has proven to be one of the best things Marjorie and Ollie have ever done.

When I think of how flighty and self-centered Marjorie was when we were all together in high school, I can hardly believe how caring and responsible she is as a mother. Ollie's devotion to his new son is less of a surprise. He always was one of the nicest guys you could ever hope to meet. Jacob is lucky to have them.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring April 14, 1937

Things here are settling down here. These days, instead of machine guns and artillery, most of the noise is made by the enemy's loudspeakers urging us to desert and our loudspeakers urging them to do the same. … Harry and I have passed some of the time by good humored argument for Will's benefit over which is the better economic system.

Harry proclaims the virtues of Communism but is honest enough to concede that the dictatorship of the proletariat shows few signs as yet of the withering away which is supposed to produce the workers' paradise. I preach the glories of capitalism while admitting that in its present form it has a bad habit of rewarding duplicity and greed more generously than honesty and hard work. Poor Will must feel like he has a couple of angels perched on his shoulders whispering into his ears. Harry and I agree to disagree over which of us is the bad angel.

Five days ago, Harry and I finally got passes to visit Madrid. Harry is still worried about his parents and feels a little like a heel for enjoying himself while things are so bad for them. He shouldn't. He has done everything he can for them from this side of the Atlantic. I doubt they would begrudge him the chance to forget his troubles for twenty-four hours. His comrades and I managed to persuade him of this or at least pester him enough to make him give in just to get us to quiet down.

. . If our section of the front is quiet these days, there is more than enough bombing and shelling going on in Madrid. The local fascists seem to be determined to reduce as many buildings as they can to rubble and as many human beings as they can-soldiers and civilians alike-to corpses.

On arriving, Harry and I immediately made our way to the Hotel Florida which is currently overrun by correspondents and soldiers on leave like ourselves. We met a couple of comrades from the Thaelmann Battalion. One of them, a gloomy-looking private named Erwin Blattner, knew Harry's cousin Gottfried and goggled at Harry. Apparently there is a family resemblance that even their different skin colors can't disguise-same tall, powerful build and same gently rounded jawline. Erwin agreed to convey Harry's greetings to Gottfried and to tell him to be on the lookout for Harry's letter to him.

. . . The most prominent journalist at the Hotel Florida is Ernest Hemingway. The great author can be a bit of a windbag when it comes to war which he considers a supreme test of manhood-at least when no bloodthirsty bulls are available for sword and cape work. For myself, I have found war to be a supreme test of speed. If you don't hit the ground fast when the enemy has you at his mercy or keep up a constant fire when you have the enemy at yours, things can get nasty for you. Sometimes they get nasty even if you do.

Still, I wish I had my copy of The Sun Also Rises with me for him to autograph. He may not be a profound thinker, but he is a terrific writer. Strutting and crowing aside, he is also a generous host if you belong to the International Brigades. His hot water is always available for a much-needed bath and his liquor and cigars are quite good.

Afterwards, Harry and I weren't sure whether or not to see the new Chaplin picture Modern Times at the Capitol and risk the shellfire that comes down the Gran Via like clockwork at the exact time the movie lets out. Then Harry chuckled and asked if I remembered the Chaplin imitation Mackie Cohen did back in Villanueva de Jara. I did. I couldn't help but chuckle a little myself thinking of how perfectly Mackie did the ridiculous walk. I'm sure that I was wearing a broad grin as I said to Harry, "He always did love a good laugh."

Harry folded the newspaper in which he had been seeking the film listings and gripped it in his left hand. Like a couple of complete fools, the two of us began to walk towards the Gran Via. Modern Times was a delight. Harry and I spent a wonderful ninety minutes trying not to fall out of our seats laughing. Then we waited in the lobby for the shelling to stop. Afterwards, I left Harry on the street trying out some of the Spanish I taught him on a pair of cute Madrilenas whom I later learned were a pair of secretaries from the Interior Ministry. Returning to the Hotel Florida, I secured a comfortable chair in the lobby for some reading and a good night's sleep'

Next Post: Youthful idealism. A visitor to the trenches.


	13. Chapter 13

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

I was eating my usual lunch of a sandwich and an apple on a bench in the town square when I was approached by a gawky boy of nearly eighteen. I recognized him as Hub's friend, Buck Mayhew. There was an eager light in his eyes of a sort that I had long learned to be wary of in teenage boys. Experience with my brothers and my nephews had taught me that it was an almost certain sign of fervent enthusiasm for a reckless and foolish scheme of some kind. It was also my experience that the more reckless and foolish the scheme the more certain the teenage boy was that it was the best possible thing for himself, his family, his community, and the world in general.

Of course, teenage boys being unpredictable, every now and then the fervent enthusiasm turns out to be justified. Unfortunately, this wasn't one of those times. Buck wanted a favor from me. "Mrs. Mainwaring, I . . . I want to go to Spain to fight the fascists like your husband and Will Lane. I know you know people who can get me there. Will you help me?"

His earnestness and awkwardness touched me deeply. "I can't. Even if it weren't illegal, you're too young to be going to war."

"I'm almost as old as Will Lane and I'm older than Ollie Jefferson was when he ran away to fight in the Great War."

"You're still in school."

"So was Mr. Jefferson when he joined up."

"Yes, and his mother and father were half crazy with worry when he disappeared without a word. They only learned where he was from a letter he sent them while on leave. It had no return address so they couldn't find his unit and have him discharged for being underage. We civilians are supposed to have it easier than soldiers, but if you'd seen the fear in their eyes every time someone mentioned their son you might not be so sure. Is that what you want to do to your parents?"

I could tell from the shocked and guilty look on his face that he hadn't thought of it that way. "No. I don't want to hurt them, but how do I ignore what the fascists are doing? I have to go."

I'm sure he meant the set of his jaw to be stubborn, but a slight trembling gave his inner doubt away. I spoke as gently as I could. "I admire you for wanting to do what's right, but one of the reasons my husband and his comrades are fighting is so that you and your generation don't have to go to war."

Buck opened his mouth to speak, but I stopped him by putting a finger to his lips. "Let me show you something."

I led him to the Great War Memorial. There I pointed to a name, Richard Brewster. If you hadn't known him, his name was just a few strikes of the chisel cutting grooves into the granite. I remembered a sensitive, awkward boy with a hopeless crush on merry, popular Brenda Layton. Brenda didn't have a cruel bone in her body. She liked him and was nice enough to him, but just couldn't see what was obvious to everyone else.

I read off two more names and told Buck about their enthusiasms, their resentments, their affections, and their foolishness. Buck was obviously stunned by the idea that the names on the monument belonged to people who were once kids like him trying to feel their way towards adulthood just like he was. He asked me why I was doing this.

I explained. "Those boys had their entire lives in front of them. They had love to find and dreams to chase. They lost their chance to do that. Van and his comrades would want you to stay here and have yours."

Buck was still troubled. "I see what you're saying, but what right do I have to do that? You said at the rally that we all have a duty to do everything we can to help those who are risking their lives to defeat fascism."

I put a hand on his shoulder. "There are things you can do for them without going to Spain. You can help me raise money for the Republic." At that moment, inspiration struck. "I can ask Van if there are any of his comrades who don't have anyone to send them mail. Maybe you and some of your friends can write to them."

I could see from the slightly dazed awareness dawning in his eyes that he was starting to consider the idea and hadn't yet found anything wrong with it. "Well . . . maybe . . ."

I squeezed his shoulder and smiled at him. "Will you promise to at least think about it?"

He looked at me for a moment and then smiled back. "All right. I'll see if any of my friends are interested."

I thanked him and watched him walk away lost in thought. Hopefully, he was already thinking better of going off to war. Just in case he wasn't, I had every intention of having a word with his parents about his dreams of being a war hero. I'll be honest. If an adult had come and asked me for help in joining the International Brigades, I might have been tempted to give it. However, I wasn't about to take a chance of sending a child to be maimed or killed.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring April 24, 1937

Today, we were visited in the trenches by a special correspondent for the Toronto Daily Star whose name you may recognize, Hugh Frampton. Unlike Hemingway on his earlier visit, he had the sense not to draw fire on us by insisting on shooting off a few rounds from a machine gun at the fascists.

You wouldn't want to hear the language Johnny Pike used when he learned about Hemingway's stunt. He gave new meaning to the phrase "cursing like a sailor." The only words he used that weren't profane were to the effect that he was glad it wasn't his machine gun crew that had to risk their lives. It would be humiliating to die in such a stupid way. I should hate myself for being so flip, but I couldn't resist saying that I had no idea there was a smart way to get yourself killed.

Johnny told me that I sounded like his mother. It was a shame that she wasn't here. She could probably nag the fascists into surrendering. Of course, he immediately told us not to get her wrong. She isn't so bad. She just worries. When he was in the merchant marine, she was terrified that his ship would sink or he'd be stranded in some foreign port. She was always trying to get him to find a job on land so she could be sure he was safe.

Rather than try to get us killed, Frampton asked us questions about life in the trenches and how it compared to his experiences in Flanders in the Great War. I probably wouldn't have found out that you knew him until you replied to this letter if he hadn't picked Will Lane to question. The second thing he asked him after his name was the name of his hometown. You should have seen his jaw drop when Will answered New Bedford.

"Do you know a Toppy Bailey or a Grace Bailey," he asked eagerly.

Will favored his questioner with a broad grin. "Sure, I know them both. Grace Bailey's last name is Mainwaring now." He gestured towards me. "You're standing right next to her husband."

Frampton looked from Will to me to Will and back again. "On the level?"

"Absolutely," I affirmed.

"When did that happen?"

I gave him the details. He was still floored by the revelation. "If you really are lucky enough to be married to a doll like that, what are you doing here?"

I told him the truth. "A day doesn't go by that I don't ask myself that question."

"So why are you here?"

I explained that nothing I had seen since coming to Spain had altered the conviction I had formed four years ago in Berlin that fascism is a mortal danger to civilization that must be destroyed. The fact that a capitalist such as myself is willing to make common cause with Communists to do it should give him an idea of just how mortal. Frampton sends you his best. He was glad to hear that you were at CRNB again, but sorry that you planned to forsake journalism for business once I return from Spain.

He thinks you have the courage and dedication to be a great war correspondent if you put your mind to it. He may be right. I can't believe that you never mentioned to me that you once covered a cave in at an abandoned mine in which one of the boys trapped was Henry. Still, I can't blame you if that experience wasn't something you wanted to look back on. You must have been terrified for your nephew.

Frampton was pleased to hear of Toppy's success as an author under the nom de plume Lucinda Fairchild. I gave him the copy of her new short story collection, The Silver Dream, that you sent me. He sends Toppy his best and says that that he looks forward to seeing how she practices what she once preached to him about writing female characters.

He also offers her and Archie his congratulations on their marriage. It was cruel of her to break his heart by marrying someone else. However, he wishes her all the happiness that he would have liked to have given her himself. He also asked me to tell Archie that he hopes he knows what a lucky man he is and if he makes Toppy unhappy, he'll come back to New Bedford and break his neck. He said it in a good-natured way, but there was a hint of pain underneath his smile. I don't know what happened between him and Toppy but it obviously meant a lot to him.

Next Post: The Schmitzes Come to New Bedford. Letters to and from Spain.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry April 27, 1937

Today, Johann and Ida Schmitz arrived in New Bedford. It's a shame that Johann lost his job as a miner to a joy loader. At least Mother and I were able to offer him employment at our Bas Lake Mine. I was aware that the Schmitzes were an interracial couple. However, I am ashamed to admit that actually seeing a white man and a Negro woman holding hands right there on the train station platform unnerved me for a moment. I gave myself a sharp mental kick and greeted them as warmly as I could. I was quickly charmed by their easy familiarity with each other and the comfortable but deep affection in every smile they exchanged. They were just an old married couple after all.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton April 27, 1937

I have to hand it to Grace. She continues to find creative ways of turning this town on its ear. Henry is still sulking because Max and I refused him permission to become part of her new scheme to recruit the town's teen-age children as pen pals for Van's comrades in the Abraham Lincoln Battalion. Well, he can just keep on sulking. We could possibly tolerate his corresponding with one of the many atheists in the battalion as long as the atheist respected his right to hold different views, but he isn't going to start something that could end in tragedy and that's that.

At least Grace is refusing to allow anyone to participate without permission from their parents and fair warning of the possibility that their correspondent might not survive the war. She also got the benefit of Max's experience as a veteran of the Great War. He provided her with sound advice as to what a pen pal should and shouldn't say in a letter to a soldier. This sort of thing is nothing new. There were efforts to encourage children to write to soldiers during the Great War. However, bringing an interracial couple to New Bedford is completely original.

The Schmitzes turned out to be nice enough when Grace, May and Juanita introduced them to me at my beauty shop on their way to lunch at the tearoom. I was still anxious as I watched them walk away. Callie Cramp had allowed Juanita to be served when she came to the tearoom with May, but I had no idea how she and the rest of New Bedford would react to the Schmitzes. It was a relief not to see even one outraged tearoom customer storming back through the lobby. It was even more of a relief to see Grace, May, Juanita, and the Schmitzes come back through the lobby about forty minutes later looking happy and relaxed. I have to give Callie Cramp credit. She must have known that she was inviting controversy by serving them, but she did it anyway. I made a point of going to the desk and thanking her after closing shop. She was surprisingly subdued.

"I hope I don't regret it," she confided. "You should have seen the dirty looks Mrs. Hartsfield and Mrs. Grady gave me."

My curiosity got the better of me. "If you're so worried about their good opinion, why did you serve the Schmitzes?"

"I'm not sure whether or not their marriage is a good idea," she admitted, "but that has nothing to do with the tearoom. If I can't serve polite, well-behaved customers, whatever their skin color, then what's the point of running a business?"

I had to agree with her about business. As for the rest, having married outside my faith twice, I'm in no position to look down on someone else's unusual marriage. Even with her reservations about the Schmitzes, Mrs. Cramp has still come a long way from the woman who pulled Max's mystery serial, The Adventures of Sam Chang, from the air because she was intimidated by a few bigoted words and slogans left by vandals. Hopefully, no one will try that on the Schmitzes' new house after the way Sgt. Stoneman made Tony Piretti and his friends clean off every letter they painted on the front of CRNB.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring May 7, 1937

… All this fighting between Communists and Trotskyites and Anarchists in Barcelona is sheer stupidity. All three should bury their political rivalries before the fascists bury them.

…Oscar Saarinen has returned to the battalion. His leg is completely healed. He has nothing but praise for the Republic's medical services. Tell Henry, Hub, and Maisie that the work they and their friends have done for the Committee to Aid Spanish Democracy is much appreciated here. A mobile blood transfusion unit like the one they helped purchase saved Oscar's life and he is far from the only one of my comrades who can say that. Oscar sends his thanks for your visit to his parents. It was very generous of you to give them the money left over from the mobile blood transfusion unit drive to distribute to the families of the Finnish-Canadian volunteers. Some of them are very poor and in great need.

There is also general enthusiasm about your pen pal idea. Our Commissar, Steve Nelson, approved the list I compiled of several potential correspondents who can be written to care of the battalion. Any one of them would be grateful for the relief from trench routine. My comrades all think that I am a lucky man to have a wife as kind and good as you. I agree with them that you are as lovely inside as out. If a god exists, I pray to him that someday I will be able to tell you so in person.

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring May 12, 1937

… I knew that the Star was sending Hugh Frampton to Spain, but I never dreamed that you and he would actually meet. … You are right about my reason for not telling you about the mine cave in. Having to carry on as a reporter while Henry was trapped or possibly even already dead was torture. Thank God, the rescuers reached him and Pritchard in time. … Toppy was touched by Mr. Frampton's greetings to her. I think she remains fond of him, but not as fond as he is of her. Her heart clearly belongs to Archie. The honeymoon hasn't entirely ended for them. When they are in a room together, they still have a hard time noticing that other people are there too. So do I when I think of you and some of the things we did last summer.

… Tell Harry that his parents are doing well in New Bedford. There has been some muttering and grumbling about the fact that they are an interracial couple. However, it is hard for anyone to argue that a marriage that has lasted for well over thirty years can't possibly work out. That the Schmitzes' son is risking his life in Spain alongside Hal Lane's boy has earned them some respect among the miners. So has the fact that Mr. Schmitz has turned out to be hardworking and reliable. Mr. Murphy is also impressed with Mr. Schmitz' work at the mine. West Virginia's loss is definitely Canada's gain.

I wish I knew why Ida insists on collecting glass bottles of as many kinds and colors as possible and placing them on the ends of the trimmed and shortened branches of a young white cedar tree. Speaking of trees, Will writes that the Spanish replacements call you El Roble and Harry El Roble Negro because you are both so tall and strapping. His parents and the Schmitzes are getting along well. Molly Lane has taken an interest in Ida's vegetable garden. Her rheumatism makes it difficult for her to work in her own, but she has been very helpful in providing Ida with information about the differences in the Canadian and West Virginian growing seasons. Ida was glad to find that it isn't too late to grow tomatoes.

… Most people in New Bedford, especially the miners, seem happy with my pen pal idea. However, there is a modest minority that are appalled. Among them is Mr. Graham. He came to tell me personally that Rebecca won't be corresponding with any of your comrades. He was polite about it, though. He even thanked me for being respectful of the rights and authority of New Bedford's parents.

Unfortunately, from what Rebecca told Toppy at the dress shop, he was somewhat more heated at his own dinner table. Apparently, I'm the terrible consequence that usually happens when women meddle in business and politics instead of leaving such things to men. I like men. If I didn't, I would never have fallen in love with you. However, I have yet to hear of a fascist who doesn't agree with Mr. Graham that women have no place outside the home. When I think of what fascist countries are like I can't honestly believe that women could do any worse at running them than the men who are doing so now.

Even Callie Cramp at CRNB looks pretty good compared to Hitler, Franco and Mussolini. Which isn't to say that she's likely to be named employer of the year anytime soon. I could stand the occasional skeptical comment about my work for the Spanish Republic. She seems genuinely concerned for me. However, her continued efforts to persuade me to stay on part time for the summer instead of letting Jim Flett work as announcer full time are irritating. Her suggestion that I owe her a favor for letting the Schmitzes dine at the New Bedford Inn Tearoom was too much. Not that I'm not grateful and haven't told her so, but I'm not about to stab one friend in the back just because she was decent to others.

When that tactic failed, she actually had the nerve to say that I should at least think of poor Jim, tired and run down after months of teaching school full time and working at CRNB part time. Surely, I wouldn't deprive him of a chance of a much-needed rest? She knows very well that Jim Flett is as healthy as a horse. I asked her if she had spoken to Jim about me staying on during the summer. She had. I couldn't believe my ears when she told me that he agrees that I should.

Next post: in two weeks Brother against brother. Summer at CRNB. The country mouse and the city mouse.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring. May 14, 1937

… Harry was glad to hear that his parents arrived safely in New Bedford. It is a relief to him that his father will be working in a mine where he won't have to breathe in coal dust or risk fires and explosions. He's sure that his mother must be overjoyed.

… There is a Spanish sniper with the battalion named Antonio Dominguez. Normally, unlike most of his countrymen once they warm up to you, he isn't very talkative. However, even the flintiest loner gets starved for company sometime. Some of us were swapping stories of where we came from after supper. All of us were getting a little homesick. Johnny Pike was admitting to actually missing the hard work of spring planting at his grandfather's farm. Antonio was listening carefully, but it was still a surprise when he told Johnny that he was lucky to have someplace to go back to after the war is over. As he started to tell us about himself, his eyes seemed to stare through us into a far distance.

He comes from a small village in Andalusia. His father was a doctor who was much respected for his compassion and dedication to his patients. He was also a moderate liberal who had his reservations about the Republic. However, he had come to believe that public education and at least a modicum of land reform were the only hope of improving the desperate conditions of his often impoverished and illiterate neighbors. One day, shortly before the war, Antonio said goodbye to his parents and left for the University of Granada to study civil engineering. He was their second child to leave home. His older brother, Enrique, became friends with the middle son of one of the less obnoxious local landlords. Both had gone into the army together hoping for adventure and excitement.

When the war began, Antonio feared for his family. He soon learned that his parents and younger brother had been murdered along with many of their neighbors by Franco's Regulares [Moroccan mercenaries ed.]. This crime was part of a general slaughter of anyone in Andalusia who so much as suggested that the poor might deserve a better lot in life than ignorance, starvation, and servitude. He and the family friend who brought him the news escaped to the Republican lines. He had no idea where his older brother was. Hopefully he had the sense to desert at the first opportunity. However, if he was still with the Fascists and Antonio ever found him in his sights, he would no more hesitate to pull the trigger than he would to crush a louse between his thumb and forefinger. I felt a chill at the casual, emotionless way in which he said this.

This war has set brother against brother and neighbor against neighbor. I can't help remembering what my grandfather told me about the outbreak of America's civil war. He knew a number of Southerners at Yale. A couple of them were good friends. All of them went home to fight for the South after Lincoln's election and the secession of their home states. My grandfather was as convinced of the Negro's inferiority as any Southerner, but he couldn't understand why anyone would be willing to drench his own country in blood for the privilege of enslaving them or anyone else. Neither can I. Be very glad that your country has never had a civil war.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton May 14, 1937

I ran into Jim Flett in the lobby today. He was returning from school just as I was on my way upstairs to the family apartment after closing down the beauty parlor for the day. As we walked up the stairs, we chatted about this and that. I was surprised to hear from him that he had tried to persuade Grace that she should continue working at CRNB through the summer. They had talked about the matter a couple of days earlier. Apparently, Grace hadn't been able to believe Jim's stance either.

"I'm good at announcing and interviewing," he explained, "but I can be a little formal. Grace isn't like that. She has a warm, friendly, and relaxed style that draws the listeners in and the advertisers know it. CRNB needs the revenue she generates."

"Is she really that important to the station?"

"She is, although I think she has a hard time believing it herself. I told her that Mrs. Cramp showed me the books. She asked me which set."

It was terrible of me, but I couldn't resist a quick laugh. Jim paused for a second and then continued. "Of course, she doesn't really believe Mrs. Cramp is that underhanded. At least I don't think she does."

Grace still refuses to continue on through the summer. She knows that Jim needs his income from CRNB to support Pritchard and save for a home for the two of them or the three of them if Audrey Collins leaves her work as a teacher to marry him. For these reasons, she is reluctant to deprive him of any of it. Speaking of Pritchard, Henry continues to be envious that Jim is allowing him to be part of Grace's pen pal scheme while he is being kept out of it. I suspect that the admiration Pritchard is getting from Rebecca as a result explains some of Henry's feelings.

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring May 23, 1937

… Canada may not have had a Civil War, but thousands of Canadians fought in yours, mostly for the union, including two of my great uncles. One, Ray Bailey, was wounded at Antietam. Afterwards, they stayed in America. The last we heard of them was when Ned sent a sympathy letter after my father died. He was living in the Midwest in a small town called something similar to New Bedford. At least I think it had Bedford in the name. Bedfordville? Bedford River?

… I was interested to read in the Daily Clarion of the formation of the Friends of the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion. I am almost as confused by this as I am by the habit some American Communists have fallen into of calling your battalion the Abraham Lincoln Brigade even though it is not a brigade. I know that a second American battalion, the George Washington Battalion, is being organized. Has someone in Spain started a Canadian battalion and named it the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion?

… We had the Schmitzes for Sunday dinner. Johann was a friendly and relaxed dinner companion. He chatted pleasantly with Max and Honey about Hub and Henry. Then Maisie asked him what part of Germany he comes from. His conversation became sad and nostalgic as he remembered the Ruhr of the long ago days before he immigrated to America. He spoke of hard work in the mines and a bitter strike in 1899 in his hometown of Herne, but also of music and laughter and high hopes. From the letters he receives from his nephew Gottfried in the Thaelmann Battalion, that has changed. In his day at least some German youth dreamed of a better world. Now, they are all bullied and deceived by power hungry criminals into working for a worse one.

… There was an anxious moment when Violet asked Ida what the rest of us had avoided because none of us wanted to pry. Why was she was collecting bottles and sticking them on the ends of tree branches? Fortunately, Ida understood that Violet was a child and wasn't trying to be rude. "That's a bottle tree. A lotta folks have 'em in Mississippi. Them colored bottles is so evil spirits'll see how pretty they look an' fly in. Once they in there, they cain't get out an' make trouble."

The look on Juanita's face was the same one the town mouse in the fable must have given the country mouse. "That sounds like sheer superstition to me."

"I ain't no heathen," Ida retorted sharply. "I'm a godfearin' Baptist jes' like you. So was my mama an' she taught me how to make a bottle tree. I ain't never lived no place without one in my back yard an' I ain't gonna start now."

At that point, I remembered something. "That sounds like the rowan wood cross that Cousin Jessie gave Mother to hang above my cradle when I was born. It's a Scottish custom. Supposedly it protects you against being taken away by the fairies."

Of course, nothing would do then but me getting the cross-two rowan twigs bound by red thread-and letting Violet look at it. Seeing Honey and Max with her and the rest of their children, I can't help but think of us together like that with children of our own. Such things are often on my mind when I can't find something to keep myself busy. Please, keep safe and come back to me. . .

Next Post: The Summer of '37


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan May 26, 1937

… I had an interesting encounter with Mrs. Cramp today. She was coming into Mr. Greeley's grocery just as Juanita and I were going out. She was happy that Grace had accepted a compromise over her work at CRNB. She will cut back her time there but will continue to host New Bedford Chat and 1-2 episodes of New Bedford Notes a week. Mrs. Cramp will get her usual advertising revenue for those shows and Jim Flett will be able to work nearly full time.

She was kind enough to inquire as to how Grace's work as my executive secretary is going. I was pleased to report that she is doing a creditable job. Her typing is faster, and I had no idea what a steel trap memory she has. She regularly makes appointments for me without referring to her appointment book. She has insisted on memorizing the thing ever since she lost track of it one day and turned the mine office inside out looking for it. Of course, it turned out to be in her coat pocket.

… Bob visited Mackie Cohen's parents last week. I am glad that he and Mackie's father were able to find some common ground in their Great War experiences. My heart goes out to the Cohens.

You work and hope and pray for your children. You give them all your love. There is no worse pain you can suffer than to know that you will never see or touch or speak to one of them again in this world. I am glad that the Cohens found the strength to say goodbye to Mackie before he left for Spain and to write to him while he was there. However appalled they may have been that he became a Communist, he was still their son and the heart does not stop loving. …

… Juanita is starting to warm to Ida Schmitz a little. She is beginning to see that Ida is not a flesh and blood version of the kind of minstrel show caricature she has spent her entire life trying to rise above. Behind her rough-hewn speech and ways there is a fair amount of native shrewdness.

Ida has a very sensible outlook where family are concerned. Children should heed their parents' advice no matter how old they are because sometimes we actually do know best. Of course, they will not always do that. When they are grown, we can only let them make their mistakes and pray that the consequences won't be too drastic. Their childhoods may come to an end, but our worry over them never does.

I can only sympathize with her fears for her son Harry's safety. It was by the grace of God alone that my two sons came home safe from the last war. Still, at least they had their faith to comfort and guide them. Poor Ida has to worry not just about Harry's physical safety, but about the state of his atheist soul.

I don't know how Grace manages to preserve such serenity about her husband's agnosticism. She says that he admits that if a good and just god exists, he is willing to commend his spirit should he have one into His hands. There are even moments when he finds himself praying in spite of not being sure that anyone is listening.

I do not know what worth prayers to a god in whom one neither believes nor disbelieves for the salvation of a soul one isn't sure exists may have in the eyes of Our Lord. However, the last time I was absolutely sure of God's will, I tore my family apart in order to indulge my ugliest prejudices. Perhaps Grace is right to take comfort in the thought that God walks with us all, whether or not we can see Him beside us. Perhaps, when Van feels the urge to pray, he is simply hearing His footsteps.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

If the previous summer was a honeymoon, this one, the second summer of the Spanish Civil War, was a vigil. It seemed that I was always waiting for news of Van or of _la causa _as supporters of the Spanish Republic had come to call the struggle for its existence and its ideals. There was much talk of a better world in those days and it was right that there should have been. It is not enough to prevent people like Hitler and Franco from making a worse world. If you struggle only for existence, then existence will be nothing but struggle.

Sometimes the wait was broken by the next newspaper, the next word from the Schmitzes and the Lanes of their sons, and, above all, by the next letter from Van. I often tore open and read Van's letters right there at the mailbox, especially if there had been a long wait since the last one. Every time I opened the mailbox, I prayed that I wouldn't find the letter I dreaded, the one that would tell me that my husband was wounded or worse.

When there was no news, there was always work, the more the better. When I worked, I could keep at bay the fears that were always as present as the air I breathed, no matter how hard I tried to push them away or to forget them.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring June 1, 1937

… My comrades receiving letters from New Bedford are grateful to their Canadian pen pals for inviting them into their lives. It is a good feeling to know that there is someone back home who cares what happens to you.

… The formation of the Friends of the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion is heartening. [censored. Van probably added something that would have revealed that although two battalions of the XV International Brigade were in the process of being organized from North American volunteers, no official name had been given to either as yet. Ed.]

… Max and Honey are lucky to have each other and their children. Like you, I often yearn for the same luck for the two of us. When I hold each new letter of yours in my hands, such beautiful dreams of a future seem almost real to me. Then there are times when the dirt, the lice, and the boredom make them seem as unreachable as that moon and stars I wrote you about in the days after Christmas. …

From the Journal of Honey Sutton June 2, 1937

… Max received a delegation from the New Bedford Merchants Association today. It was headed by Archie who was accompanied by Mrs. Cramp and Mr. Greeley. They explained that the Silverdome Fishing Tournament and Picnic is supposed to be held again at Bas Lake this August. However, it's cancellation last summer as a precaution against the spread of a polio epidemic has given Bas Lake a reputation as a plague spot even though the epidemic never spread to New Bedford.

Max promised the delegation that he would do everything in his power to fix the problem. He knows how important the sales revenue the Tournament and Picnic normally generates is to their businesses. Unfortunately, he is at a loss as to what to do about it.

I am at a loss as to what to do about Henry's continued resentment at not being allowed to take part in Grace's pen pal scheme. Even his new summer job as stock boy at Mr. Greeley's grocery store hasn't diverted his attention in the slightest. His habit of very pointedly bringing up what his friends have told him about their letters from their pen pals is starting to be very irritating.

So, what did I do? I complained to Grace about it for the third or fourth time in the past two weeks. I probably deserved her good-natured sarcasm. "I could suggest to him that he ask you and Max to let him write his own letters to Van instead of just having me convey his good wishes. You could hardly refuse him permission to write to his own uncle. That way you'd never again have to listen to him complain about not having a pen pal."

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I don't mean to be a scold. It's just that nothing gets under a mother's skin like a child who won't let go of a bad idea. Still, I can't blame him for wanting to be kind to someone far from home and make a new friend in the process."

Grace smiled ruefully. "If it weren't for Rebecca always talking about Pritchard's letters from Spain, he probably wouldn't be so irked. I wish she would make up her mind which one she prefers. You should talk to her mother the next time you go out to the Graham place to do her hair . . . If she's well enough."

"She's doing better. She walked around the house last week, although she's still scared of looking out the windows."

Grace mused. "It breaks my heart to think that poor woman hasn't been out of doors for over a year."

"It is sad," I agreed. "She still has a long way to go to conquer her fear of open spaces. She's so timid. Maybe I should talk to Mr. Graham about Rebecca."

A light came into Grace's eyes. "Better yet, have Toppy talk to him. He knows she's like a second mother to that child and he trusts her more than he does either of us, especially me."

I agreed that was a good idea and am grateful to Grace for it. Even so, I am just as glad that Hub is now working at the logging camp at Alawanda and unable to take part in whatever else she comes up with to support the Republic. It was mean of Mr. Bridgeman not to let Laura even come to the door and say goodbye when he visited the Bridgeman house last Friday. I know he will miss her, but it will be good for him to have some distance from all the things that preoccupy him here and some time to think seriously about his future.

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring June 12, 1937

… Don't despair of our future. The news is everywhere here of the work being done in Spain to expand and train the International Brigades and the regular army. God willing the war will be over and the fascists beaten by this time next year and we will be free to see what kind of life we can build together. I splashed a little of that scent you like so much on this letter. I will wear it again on the day you return to me once more.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring June 22, 1937

The battalion has finally been relieved from the line. We are in a small village called Albares, at the top of one hundred stone steps leading up from the highway. The people are pleasant and welcoming.

… Before we left the trenches, the Canadians in the battalion were visited by a civilian named Albert A. MacLeod who is apparently a big wheel in the Canadian Communist Party. He asked if any of them would be willing to serve in a Canadian battalion. The consensus was that many of them would if it came to that. Then, he began to write down names.

He asked for Harry's name. Harry had to explain that he was an American and so was I. I added that we would hate to have to say goodbye to our Canadian comrades, since we had been with some of them since joining up in Canada.

MacLeod must have seen my remark as a hint. He allowed that there were plenty of Americans in the two new battalions being trained for service in the brigade. There shouldn't be any objection to a pair of transfers on that account, so he took down my name and Harry's just in case. Probably MacLeod was only gauging support for a Canadian battalion, and nothing will come of the transfer idea.

… I am sorry to hear that Juanita will be leaving soon to nurse another patient even if it is because your mother is making such tremendous progress. Please, do let Dr. Barlow arrange for your mother's chair to be donated to a stroke or polio patient who can't afford one. I gave it to her so that she could get around when she began her recovery from her stroke. Now that she isn't using it anymore, there is no reason that someone worse off shouldn't get the benefit.

You'll make a terrific president of the Friends of the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion, New Bedford Chapter. Max knew what he was doing when he recommended you over himself for the job. You have a talent for managing and organizing, as I saw firsthand when we were preparing to run that sawmill we almost bought. … The scent on your letter is sweet but having you in my arms would be sweeter.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry June 22, 1937

What a hectic week! Both Mr. and Mrs. Cramp grumbled about my reading selections from Will Lane's latest letter home on New Bedford Notes. However, his yearning for his family, his friends, and his hometown seem to have struck a chord with the people of New Bedford. I've never had so many people compliment me on a broadcast before. I think that Will's letter brought home to many of my neighbors just what he and Van and their comrades are giving up to fight in Spain.

Hopefully, that understanding will translate into generous donations to the two new homes for orphan children the Committee to Aid Spanish Democracy intends to build in Spain. Both are desperately needed. Franco's policy of butchering civilian populations as at Guernica and on the Malaga to Almeria Road has created a flood of refugees and orphans.

We all miss Juanita. Even Mrs. Schmitz was there at the station to see her off. I think that the admiration Juanita has expressed for Mrs. Schmitz' children and their achievements broke the ice between them.

Maisie tried to act nonchalant, but to anyone who knows her, it was obvious that she was pretty broken up. Juanita has been not just a friend, but a mentor and an inspiration to her. The light in her eyes when she talks about doing for others as a doctor what Juanita did for Mother as a nurse is a beautiful thing.

I tried to comfort her by reminding her that she could write to Juanita when she found a new assignment, but I don't think I was very successful. I just wish she hadn't tried to comfort herself by experimenting with last night's desert. Still, even with the half-cooked crust, her apple pie might have been salvageable if she hadn't substituted pepper and oregano for cinnamon. At least, the pot roast was only slightly singed, the peas were passable, and her night to cook dinner doesn't come again for another week. Thank heaven.

When I visited the dress shop this morning, Rebecca told Toppy and me that she had come to a decision about Henry and Pritchard. It wasn't quite the decision we had in mind when her father suggested to her that she should choose between them and stop dangling them on a string. I can just see the dirty look I'm going to get from him at the next Silverdome Mining Company board meeting.

Rebecca told us that she would go to the End of Summer Dance with whoever came up with the best fundraising idea for the Friends of the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion, New Bedford Chapter. They could have until the day after Dr. Norman Bethune's speaking engagement here to come up with something.

Rebecca even had the nerve to ask me to hear their ideas and decide which I wanted to use. I told her that I doubted that the Friends of the Mac-Paps would only be fund raising once. Henry and Pritchard are both bright boys. I expected to use both ideas. Rebecca's stunned silence was very satisfying. It was probably mean of me to add that I supposed that she would have to take both boys to the End of Summer Dance. Rebecca's jaw dropped. Toppy actually stifled a laugh.

I tried to be as kind as I could when I suggested to Rebecca that she could simply pick the one she liked best. Given my less-than-perfect love life, I'm probably the last person who should try to manage anyone else's. However, I hate to see Rebecca being so unfair to her lovestruck admirers and to herself. It might be a thrill to play the bewitching siren, but if she could settle for either of those boys, she might find something true and precious.

Next Post: A hero comes to New Bedford. A battle begins.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

From Alden Cramp, "Goodwill from Canada," New Bedford Chronicle, June 23, 1937

"… When Prime Minister King arrives in Berlin in four days, he will carry with him the hopes of all decent Canadians for peace between nations. It is to be hoped that he and Chancellor Hitler, meeting in an atmosphere of friendship and goodwill, will find ways to resolve the differences between Germany and her neighbors. Both unquestionably realize that the kind of friction and misunderstandings that led to the catastrophe of the World War cannot be allowed to arise again. …"

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan June 25, 1937

I have never seen Grace in such a whirlwind of activity. Between her regular work, her arrangements for Dr. Bethune's speaking engagement, and her efforts to get our new chapter of the Friends of the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion on its feet, she is going full steam ahead. I can't help thinking back to the days when Grace was helping me with the New Bedford war effort during the last war. She has obviously forgotten nothing of what she learned then.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton June 25, 1937

I am uncertain about Max's decision to let Grace use the school auditorium for the rally at which Norman Bethune is to speak. Max assures me that the school board is willing to let him get by with it since the event's purpose is humanitarian. I hope he's right.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring June 30, 1937

… I very much suspect that there will be another battle for us before summer ends. If there is, then I won't be able to write to you until the fighting is over, so don't be alarmed if there is a long interval with no letter from me.

Will was glad to hear that your reading of his letter was so well received by his friends and neighbors in New Bedford. He is grateful for their good wishes and looks forward to the day when he can tell them so personally. Every soldier has a home that he wants to return to or that he dreams of making for himself someday. My home is wherever you are.

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring, July 1, 1937

Dr. Bethune's visit to New Bedford on behalf of the new children's homes in Spain was a great success. We even got a sub rosa contribution from Honey. She still doesn't support the Republic but sees nothing wrong in caring for war orphans. Dr. Bethune is one of the most dynamic and charismatic speakers I have ever heard, though up close there is a touch of weariness about him not visible onstage.

A shame Juanita isn't still here to see him. Maisie was thrilled to meet her hero and he was very encouraging of her ambition to become a doctor. He even autographed a photograph of the two of them together and her copy of The Crime on the Road, the pamphlet he wrote about the fascist slaughter of refugees he witnessed on the Malaga to Almeria road.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

… Dr. Bethune lived up to his reputation as a Casanova by making a pass at me the first moment we were alone after being introduced. I brushed him off. It didn't take too long for it to sink in that he wasn't going to get anywhere.

From Grace Mainwaring, "Opening Remarks-Bethune Speech and Rally in New Bedford, June 29, 1937"

… "The only peace Franco, Hitler, or Mussolini believe in is the peace of the grave for anyone who opposes their twisted ambitions. The civilians of Guernica can testify to this fact. A little over two months ago, they were bombed, burned, and strafed by Hitler's Condor Legion with Franco's willing consent.

… There is an evil loose in the world. Its name is fascism. Its fuel is madness. Its appetite for power knows no bounds. The man I am here to introduce knows this truth better than most. … ."

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

… As I stood at the podium praising Dr. Bethune's achievements as a physician and humanitarian, Van and his comrades were sleeping their last sleep at Albares. Orders had already arrived for them to leave to join the Republican forces preparing for the battle Van expected and feared.

Five days later, they were marching up the rough, scorching valley of the Guaderrama River. Three days after that, they reached a ragged scab of earth, rock, and scrub called Mosquito Ridge. The Fascists were waiting for them with rifles, machine guns, mortars, aircraft and artillery. Soon, the hard, dusty slope would be filled with the hopeless shrieks of the wounded and the obscene stillness of the dead.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton June 30, 1937

Grace and I ran into none other than Alden Cramp today in the lobby of the New Bedford Inn as we were leaving my beauty parlor to have lunch together. Grace couldn't resist asking him about that day's editorial on the rally in the New Bedford Chronicle. Did he really think that she was "the Emma Goldman of New Bedford?"

"Maybe you aren't as outrageous a firebrand as she is," he grudgingly conceded. "At least you weren't advocating free love."

"Even if I believed in it, the rally was about helping orphans ..."

"And getting Canada involved in Europe's business. I don't defend a lot of what Franco is doing, but you and your husband are naïve if you think a Communist regime in Spain would be any better?"

Grace's eyes flashed. "I don't think the Communists are likely to take over even if the Republic wins, but would they be any worse?"

"Of course, they would. Communism goes against every virtue and ideal we Canadians treasure."

"My husband and I feel the same way about fascism."

"I'm not comfortable with it either. I fought a war against German militarism. However, if Franco wins this war, he's going to be too busy rebuilding Spain to be much of a threat to anyone. Hitler is a tyrant, but he isn't like the Kaiser. He doesn't want to dominate the world. He just wants to end the injustices done to Germany by the Versailles Treaty."

"Haven't you read his book? He wants a Greater Germany stretching from the Rhine to the Ukraine."

"He'd have to go to war with the rest of Europe and win to achieve that. Only a lunatic would try."

"I've watched the footage of his speeches. Have you seen the look in his eyes? I don't think he's entirely sane."

"All that ranting and raving is an act to get his followers worked up. Once his regime is more firmly established, he'll tone down his rhetoric and policies. A lot of sound, responsible people are absolutely sure that he'll settle for a reasonable adjustment of Germany's grievances. He won't risk a European war."

"Maybe, but I can't help being afraid that a lot of sound, responsible people are wrong."

Every time Grace talks about fascism in that grave tone, I get the urge to check the nearest wall to see if a floating hand is writing prophecies of doom on it in blood. Still, I have to agree with Mr. Cramp. Hitler is ruthless and ambitious, but not a madman. He can't be as dangerous as Grace thinks he is.

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring, July 1, 1937

… Both Henry and Pritchard came up with interesting fundraising ideas. Pritchard suggested a talent contest and Henry a raffle. Now, Rebecca is saying that she will go to the End of Summer Dance with whoever's idea raises the most money for the Friends of the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion.

I'm sure she wishes that New Bedford had a pit full of hungry lions like the one in Leigh Hunt's poem. She could have her two love-smitten beaus jump in after her glove and go to the End of Summer Dance with the one who brings it back to her, sparing only a passing thought for the one who gets eaten. "Not love quoth he, but vanity/ sets love a test like that." I realize that the poor girl is probably starving for attention, living in a household that revolves almost entirely around her mother's illness, but I still think she isn't being fair to anybody.

Robert Bailey to Grace Mainwaring July 10, 1937

… I share your hope that Van and his comrades in the Lincoln Battalion, if part of this new offensive in the Guaderrama River Valley, have encountered no serious obstacles in their advance. I am sure that the Republican generals have learned from their mistakes and will avoid another fiasco like the attack on El Pingarron.

Please, remember that you are not alone. You have family and friends who care for you and are willing to share your troubles. You can always go to Mother or Toppy or Honey if they start to seem too much for you. You can even drop your loving brother another line. I promise not to use it for cigarette paper like I did those pages of your journal back when we were kids.

… I worry about Doris. Some of her snobbier so-called friends are giving her grief because of my resignation from the St. Andrew's Golf Club over their new policy of refusing to admit Jews as members. Some of my snobbier so-called friends have done the same to me or stopped talking to me altogether. One of them suggested that as a Great War veteran I should favor what St. Andrew's is doing because the war was fought "to secure the good things of this country for true Canadians."

I couldn't help thinking of Nate Goldschmidt who I saw lose an eye at Passchendale, of Al Cohen and what he did in that same war, and of what his son, Mackie, risked and lost in this war. If the Great War was fought so that they could be treated like dirt, then a lot of good men died for nothing.

I am beginning to understand why you are so afraid that what Hitler did in Germany could be done here or in America. There are a lot of prejudices lying around for tinder and a lot of unprincipled people who could be inspired by Hitler's success to set either country ablaze. I like to think that Canadians are too reasonable and even-tempered for such tactics to have any effect, but ten years ago I might have said the same about Germans. I might not have said the same about Americans what with the Ku Klux Klan marching in Washington D.C., but none of their homegrown demagogues seem to be as capable or as magnetic as Hitler.

Unfortunately, all Doris is concerned about is how my actions could affect her debut this fall. Personally, I don't think she needs to worry. Her stepmother's parents are still prominent in Toronto society. Their friends, Arthur and Kay Langton, to their credit, have refused to yield to pressure to abandon their sponsorship of her.

She should have at least a modest success. If not, there is nothing to be done. As Mother says, in this life, you have to learn to take the bitter with the sweet. The phrase may be homely to the point of cliché, but, like so many other things I should have listened to when Mother and father tried to teach them to me, it is still true.

Grace Mainwaring to Robert Bailey, July 12, 1937

… I am grateful to hear that my letters are safe from going up in flames. I may even decide not to tell Mother whose carelessly tossed cigarette accidentally set her laundry basket on fire when you were thirteen and took up smoking to try to be grown up.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry, July 12, 1937

… I had the shock of my life today, thanks to Max and his idea of having his brother-in-law, Joe Callahan, bring his fighters to Bas Lake to train. I was walking down the sidewalk on the town square in front of Archie's pharmacy when I saw a big man taking easy strides towards me from the opposite direction. As he came closer, my heart jumped like a rabbit. I let out a squeal of surprise. My hand raced to my mouth. I could have sworn that it was Van.

The blond hair and powerful build were exactly the same. It was only when the man quickened his pace and I saw his expression of concern as he drew nearer that I realized my mistake.

I recognized him as David Doyle, Joe Callahan's partner and the trainer for the three up-and-coming young fighters he manages. We had met when he and Joe were in New Bedford four years ago. Until seeing him again, I had no idea how close the resemblance between him and Van is. They could be brothers.

David apologized for startling me. He was in town for the first time since arriving at Bas Lake to do an interview at CRNB with Jim Flett. I remembered Jim mentioning it. I asked David how the training camp at George Murphy's place was shaping up.

Apparently, the old barn there makes a good makeshift gym and there is lots of room on the property for roadwork. I was glad to hear that Joe had lined up plenty of interviews for himself, David, and their fighters with papers and radio stations throughout the region. The publicity should finish off the idea that Bas Lake is disease-ridden.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton July 18,1937

… I opened the door to find an obviously distressed Grace standing in the corridor. She was clutching the front section of the New York Times folded open to pg. 7, section L. I started to say hello to Grace, but she cut me off almost immediately. "Is Max here? I need to speak to him?"

I assured her that he was. By that time, my husband had stopped typing and walked over from his desk. I turned my head and looked at him as I heard him stop a pace or two behind me. His expression was a mixture of bafflement and concern. "Grace, what is it?"

Grace strode past me, thrust the newspaper into his face, and pointed to an article.

"Tell me this doesn't mean what I think it means," she demanded fearfully. "Tell me that Van and his comrades weren't sent to be slaughtered in another insane frontal attack.!" She pointed to the headline. "'Americans Show Bravery in Battle.' Look at this!" She pointed at the body of the article. "'In history, the Americans who fought and died on July 9 as on Feb. 27 will provide a great and sorrowful chapter. On July 9, another gallant charge took place like that of the Lincoln Battalion up Pingarron Hill.' That sounds like a headline and article from the last war, the kind that made Passchendale and 2nd Ypres seem like glorious victories-until the casualty notifications came in!"

Max took the article and begin to read carefully. When he was finished, he looked up at Grace and smiled. "It doesn't sound as bad as El Pingarron. The casualties listed aren't light, but for a charge up a hill aren't unreasonable. The reporter was probably trying to make a minor skirmish seem larger and more important than it actually was. Van isn't even on the casualty list. I know the list isn't complete, but I'm sure he's fine."

Grace looked up at him with both hope and uncertainty. "Are you?"

Max's smile became even warmer. "Of course. Any day now you'll get a letter from him complaining about the long, boring march he and his friends just finished. I doubt Mosquito Ridge will rate more than a line or two."

Grace was still not quite her usual eager self when she left, but she did seem somewhat less anxious. After closing the door behind her, I turned to Max. His smile had vanished. The look that replaced it was grim and worried. My heart sank hearing what he said next. "That would have been easier if Grace weren't so smart."

"Max . . .?"

"She's absolutely right. You can't charge straight up a hill fortified by the enemy and not take heavy casualties, and that's if you win. When I was in the Canadian Corps, we took Passchendaele, but thousands of us died in the mud. Van and the Lincoln Battalion failed. The casualties were probably much heavier than the article claims."

Neither of us said anything. I don't think either of us believes for a moment that Grace doesn't know the truth in her heart. She just needed to have someone tell her that this day is one day closer to a joyful reunion with her husband and not one day closer to the worst.

Next Post in two weeks: Mr. and Mrs. Cramp have a proposition for Grace. Word from Spain.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

I knew something was up the moment I entered CRNB and saw Mr. and Mrs. Cramp waiting in the reception area. They smiled at me as though I were their long-lost sister whom they hadn't seen in years. Mr. Cramp's spoken greeting was equally enthusiastic. "Grace! Just the person we've been looking for! I've been telling Callie how much I love your commentaries on New Bedford Notes." He beamed down at his wife. "Haven't I, darling?"

Callie beamed back. "Yes, dear." She looked at me. "He's always telling me how colorful and pithy they are."

The word pithy did sound more like her husband than her. Mr. Cramp nodded. "That's true. All I have to do is close my eyes and listen and I can see whoever or whatever you're describing with perfect clarity. You also have a rare talent for cutting straight to the heart of any issue."

It must have taken a Herculean effort for him to resist the urge to add the words "even when you're wrong."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Cramp."

I was sure that at this point the penny would start to drop. Mr. Cramp didn't disappoint me. "You're an excellent writer, Grace. Have you ever thought that working in radio you might be hiding your light under a bushel?"

I looked at Mrs. Cramp. She was still smiling. Only her eyes betrayed even a hint of the intense longing she must have felt to reply to her husband's slight of broadcasting in kind. This conversation was becoming more alarming by the second.

The airwaves vs. print was a standing bone of contention between the Cramps, always good for at least a week of bickering whenever one or the other of them brought it up. I couldn't imagine what could keep Mrs. Cramp from rising to such tempting bait. I took a moment to return the lower half of my jaw to the vicinity of the upper half. Then I answered. "Er. No."

Mr. Cramp took my hand in both of his and gave me his most benevolent smile, the one filled with deep concern that he used to persuade reluctant merchants that if they didn't advertise with the Chronicle their businesses would go under within a month for lack of customers. "Grace, dear, have you ever thought that at a newspaper you might find more scope for your talent."

A tiny glimmer of light began to dawn. "In what way?"

Mr. Cramp answered. There was a strange note in his voice. It took me a second to recognize it as sincerity. "I was deeply moved by your tribute to Millie Everly. Such a beautiful summary of a life well lived."

Mrs. Cramp nodded her head. The same note was in her voice. "It's hard to believe she's really gone. Her column in the Chronicle meant so much to so many people.

Mr. Cramp agreed. "It did and does. Thanks to her and her sister, Millie's Corner and Laura's Corner before it, have been New Bedford institutions."

I didn't doubt that Mr. and Mrs. Cramp genuinely regretted Millie Everly's passing. She was a very sweet and lovable old lady and her household hints column was a treasure. Anyone who didn't know the Cramps would have had no suspicion of an ulterior motive. Mr. Cramp was as grave as a judge. "Choosing a worthy successor is a solemn responsibility."

Mrs. Cramp took over without missing a beat. "When Alden and I put our heads together, there was only one possible choice."

For a second, I marveled as much at the Cramps' rapport as at their nerve. I couldn't help wondering if in ten or twenty years Van and I would be that closely attuned to one another. Before I could dwell too long on the chances of us being together even one year from then, Mr. Cramp took his turn. "Would you consent to take over Miss Everly's column?"

I was floored. "M ... me? I thought maybe you wanted my advice, but this . . ."

"Say yes," Mrs. Cramp pressed. "Grace's Corner has a lovely ring to it."

I was not anxious to add the job of homemaking columnist to my already full workload as executive secretary, president of the Friends of the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion, and radio broadcaster. However, I knew I was missing something. "Why me?"

Mr. Cramp smiled at me like a crooked gambler in a bottom-of-the-bill western inviting a naive cowhand to a friendly poker game. "You're perfect for it. You kept that big house for your mother for years. You have a card box full of Mrs. Rutledge's recipes that she gave you when she left town after Rev. Seale died. You even cared for your nephews after your brother's passing so you know something about raising kids."

The moment Mr. Cramp said that last sentence, I could see the straws he was clutching at. Three months trying to keep up with a couple of spirited, impulsive boys might qualify me for a medal for heroism. It certainly gave me a new understanding of what it means to have the patience of a saint. However, it didn't make me a childcare expert. Neither did sometimes minding Doris for Toppy when she was a baby. "You couldn't find anyone else to take the job, could you?"

Mr. Cramp actually managed to look hurt that I could even suggest such a thing. "Callie and I may have mentioned two or three other names when we were talking this over, but you were the only possibility we seriously considered."

I wasn't fooled. "After all the others said 'no'. I wondered why you were willing to have me write for the Chronicle after all the disapproval you've printed about me and my work for the Spanish Republic"

Mr. Cramp was not deterred for an instant by my skepticism. He even managed to wax indignant. "I'm not desperate. I'm civic minded. The women of New Bedford have relied on that column for homemaking advice for over thirty years. It's a glorious tradition. More than that, it's an old, familiar friend. Can you imagine how disappointed your neighbors will be when they open their morning newspapers only to learn that their friend is gone?"

It was Mrs. Cramp who decided to play dirty. "Can you imagine how disappointed your mother will be. She was friends with the Everly sisters before you were born."

I could imagine. What was worse, she wouldn't be any more disappointed in me for letting the Corner die than I would be in myself. I couldn't believe what I was about to say. "You win. I'll do it, but only until Van comes home."

Mr. Cramp beamed. "That's our Grace. I knew you'd come through."

"Don't say that until you've read my first column," I cautioned. "I can probably cobble together something passable, but there was only one Millie Everly and I'm not her."

Mr. Cramp waved my reservations away. "I'm sure what you are will be good enough. Let's talk about the job. Millie always had two or three unpublished columns in reserve in case of emergencies. We've been running through those since she died."

I could see what was coming next. "So, I'll start after the last of them runs. When's my first deadline?"

"Tonight." Mr. Cramp glanced at his watch. "Press time is at ten thirty. Your deadline is ten o'clock. You should have almost forty-five minutes to put your column together once you get off work here."

"T…ten o'clock!" I sputtered. Then I hiccoughed. I hadn't experienced that particular nervous habit in some time and had hoped it was behind me.

"Now, Grace," Mr. Cramps said with infuriating good cheer. "A real journalist doesn't complain about deadlines. She meets them."

He put his hat on and tipped it to me before he left. "I'll see you tonight."

I wanted to say something, but nothing came out. All I could do was gape at him as he walked out the door.

I rushed into the Chronicle office at 9:25, having been delayed by a hurried discussion with Mrs. Cramp about Friday's programming. A desk and typewriter were pointed out to me. I put the paper in the carriage and promptly busied myself with being unable to think of a single word.

After a few minutes, a concerned-looking Mr. Cramp came up to me and told me to take a deep breath and relax. "Think of all the loyal readers who wrote to the paper about how wonderful Millie Everly and her column were. I know you won't let them down."

Suddenly, a glorious ray of light burned away the fog in my brain. I knew what I had to do. At my insistence, Mr. Cramp brought me the letters of tribute to Millie.

I began to look through them. Then I chose three or four that I felt were especially meaningful and began to write. When I was through, I had a column composed mostly of the thoughts of Millie's readers on what she and Millie's Corner had meant to them.

I didn't rip the last page out of the typewriter the way reporters always did in the movies. Do that in real life and you can tear the page in half if it gets stuck. I turned the cylinder knob as fast as I could until the paper came loose. Then I rushed the column to Mr. Cramp.

He scanned it for errors with surprising speed. When he finished, he handed it to Mr. Hennessy, the linotype operator, who took it with a lot less enthusiasm than I would have expected. Mr. Cramp grinned from ear to ear. He tapped his wristwatch with one finger, and said to Mr. Hennessy, "Pay up."

Mr. Hennessy shook his head. "I never would have thought she could do it. An entire homemaking column researched and written in less than 35 minutes. It shouldn't be possible."

Mr. Cramp's grin became even wider as he extended his hand. "You're holding the proof."

Mr. Hennessy fished a five from his pocket and with a snort turned to his work. The paper's one reporter, Ralph Thomas, sheepishly handed over five dollars of his own. I gave Mr. Cramp my chilliest cold stare. "I can't believe you and your cronies actually took bets on this."

Mr. Cramp smiled benevolently at me. "I knew you could do it. Anyone who can write copy like you do has a true journalist's instincts. Your first column will look perfect alongside Millie Everly's last."

I couldn't believe my ears. "Her last column?" I glared at Mr. Cramp, thinking nasty thoughts having to do with high cliffs with no protective railings at their edges. "You mean you could have simply printed her last column by itself? I could have had an entire week to prepare my first?"

"You didn't think I'd take a chance on a deadline that tight did you? I had an extra story ready to fill the hole if you didn't make it. I just wanted to see if you could rise to the challenge."

I'm pretty sure that my jaw was wide open. "I can't believe this. Where do you get your nerve?"

Mr. Cramp kept grinning. "The same place where you get your writing talent. From the printer's ink in our veins."

"And I could have sworn you signed a brimstone-scented parchment in blood."

That got a laugh out of everybody but Mr. Cramp. His smile only broadened slightly. "I'll expect your next column same time next Tuesday."

"Maybe you'll get it. Maybe." I picked up my purse, put on my hat, and stalked out of the Chronicle office. "Goodnight, Mr. Cramp."

As I walked into the town square, I couldn't help wondering what I had gotten myself into. The worst part was that ideas for next week's column were already running through my head.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan July 31, 1937

… When we arrived home from the office, Grace immediately made a beeline for the mailbox. I continued to the house. Grace came in almost on my heels, an official looking letter bearing a Spanish postmark in one hand, the rest of the mail in the other, and a worried expression on her face. She set the bulk of the mail aside on an end table and tore open the official looking one. Instead of fetching a letter opener, she used first one of her nails and then the fingers of both hands.

Her eyes widened with shock as she read the pages contained therein. I could tell the news was bad as the shock slowly settled into deep misery. The letter was from Steve Nelson, the Commissar of the Abraham Lincoln Battalion. The Canadian soldiers that Phyllis Fraser and Barry Black had been writing to are dead, both killed in that wretched charge up Mosquito Ridge.

Grace had arranged to be informed first if such a thing should happen. It is a heavy burden to have to break such terrible news to children, but she shouldered it in the hope that hearing of their loss from a sympathetic person would be less painful than reading of it from a lifeless piece of paper. I cannot imagine the kind of courage that must have taken. I have never been so proud of her.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry August 2, 1937

… "You should be ashamed of yourself," he [Lawrence Bridgeman] thundered. "How could you do such a thing?"

I tried to be calm. "I'm not sure what you mean?"

"Yes, you are! I forbade Laura to write to your nephew, but you mailed her letters to him with your own! You also delivered his replies to her! Don't you have any respect for parental authority?"

"For reasonable parental authority, yes. You have every right to keep Laura away from a heel, but Hub is nothing of the kind."

"He's in favor of the priest-killing Spanish Republic just like his aunt!"

It took an effort not to raise my voice as Mr. Bridgeman was doing. "The murders of priests and nuns ended months ago. Franco's soldiers are still filling mass graves with civilians and prisoners of war, including fellow Catholics, as fast as they can dig them."

Mr. Bridgeman all but sneered. "So, I hear, every morning at the breakfast table. You've divided my household just like you have the rest of New Bedford. Well, I won't stand for it anymore. Laura is going to her grandparents in Toronto for the rest of the summer. They won't tolerate any nonsense from her."

Later that day, Fr. Fitzroy took his turn to criticize me, although I will say that he did so in a spirit of sadness rather than anger. "Lawrence Bridgeman had a right to be unhappy with you, but not to scream at you in the street. I believe he will be apologizing to you for his hot temper. I hope you can understand that it is upsetting to parents to have outsiders question their authority over their children."

"I can understand that, but I hope he can understand that if he isn't less heavy-handed with his authority, he runs the risk of turning Laura against him."

"Like your mother almost did with you?"

I smiled ruefully. "Mother and I get along much better these days. How much did Honey tell you about us?"

"Nothing that I've repeated to anyone else. A priest can't be a gossip if he wants to keep the trust of his flock. He also can't disrespect parental authority and still be a father to his flock. That's a lesson your nephew will need to learn if he intends to be one of us."

… This letter is getting long and it's almost time to start preparing dinner, so I'll say goodbye and wish you and your family nothing but happy days.

Affectionately Yours,

Grace Mainwaring

P.S. I feel like running outside and dancing all the way across New Bedford with the next person I meet! Mr. Boyd just arrived with the mail and there was a letter from Van in it. He's alive and unhurt and so are Harry, Will, and Oscar. Thank God! …

Next Post: The cost of battle. A visit to Bas Lake. A bluesman remembers.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

From the Journal of Honey Sutton August 2, 1937

… Happy as I am for Grace's good news, I am still a little irritated that she didn't tell me that she was acting as a go between for Laura Bridgeman and Hub. If she weren't a family member who dearly loves Hub and would never willingly do him any harm, I would be furious.

However, I can see both sides of this question. As a parent I wouldn't like Grace or anyone else making decisions about my children without consulting me. On the other hand, I wasn't much older than Laura and Hub when I completely ignored her mother's parental authority by marrying her brother.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring August 4, 1937

It seems longer than a dozen lifetimes ago since we left for the dust and heat of the Guadarrama Valley. Yesterday some of us returned to Albares, trudging back up the hundred stone steps from the highway. Some of us are waiting in the casualty wards to heal enough to return to the battalion or be sent home. Some of us will never need to wait for anything again. Those of us at Albares were joined by the survivors of the George Washington Battalion who have been transferred to the Lincoln Battalion.

I wish I knew whether Johnny Pike is living or dead. I would have written about him earlier, but I was hoping to hear more. He was shot in the back by a sniper at Mosquito Ridge while helping place his squad's Maxim gun. The word is that he was in a pretty bad way when he was carried off to the rear.

The ordinary life of Albares is disorienting. The men in the fields, the women with their laundry, and the children at play still seem a little unreal. War suspends time. When you are fighting, marching, or waiting to do one or the other, it seems that you have never done anything else and never will. You can be fooled into thinking that war is life.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton August 5, 1937

… Pritchard has been uncharacteristically subdued for the past two days ever since Grace brought him the news that his Lincoln Battalion pen pal was wounded by shrapnel from a bomb during the retreat from Mosquito Ridge. It isn't certain how well his arm and shoulder will heal.

This afternoon at lunch a sober and thoughtful Grace actually asked me if she was wrong to have come up with the pen pal idea. I had to admit that I wasn't sure myself. It's rough on the kids who lost pen pals, but they did bring comfort to soldiers far from home.

Grace admitted that she had gotten letters from a handful of the soldiers saying as much and thanking her for organizing the project. The memory did seem to cheer her a little, but not enough to dispel all her gloom. It's a good thing that the lift she got from the news that Van is safe hasn't completely worn off. I hate to think how down in the dumps she would be without it.

She is still puzzled by Van though. I can't understand either why his letter of a week ago was so terse and why he didn't mention Johnny Pike. We had to learn that Johnny was wounded from Ida Schmitz who received the news in a letter from Harry. I had to encourage Grace to finish her sandwich. She always eats like a bird when she's out of sorts.

May Bailey to Jesse Buchanan, August 8, 1937

… As if Grace didn't have enough to worry about, that pompous Mr. Cramp and his awful wife are pressuring her, Max, and Archie not to hold the fundraiser for the Friends of the Mackenzie-Papineau Rehabilitation Fund at the same time as the Silverdome Fishing Tournament. As I mentioned in previous correspondence, they had planned to do so to take advantage of the crowds of visitors to New Bedford. Archie admits that there has been some turbulence over the issue at the latest meetings of the New Bedford Merchants Association although most of the members remain on our side. A minority are still concerned that associating the tournament with a fundraiser for mostly Communist soldiers will hurt attendance by more conservative people in the area.

Having a picnic for the family out at Joe Callahan's and David Doyle's training camp instead of the usual Sunday dinner at home was a splendid idea. The sunshine and clean air raised everyone's spirits. I was amused by Joe Callahan's apology to me for the roughness of his fighters' sparring.

It was gallant of him to try to spare an old lady's tender feelings. I'm afraid that I shocked the poor boy when I informed him that, having spent much of my youth in mining camps, I have seen men attempt mayhem with knives, razors, broken bottles and anything else that came to hand. Compared to that sort of thing, I find prizefighting quite wholesome and refined which is more than I can say for Maisie.

The poor cutman was terribly shocked by her questions about boxing injuries. She may become a doctor yet. She is already developing the obligatory ghoulishness. She is also developing an appreciation for the opposite sex if the admiring glances she cast at the fighters all afternoon are any indication. I hope the sight of so many athletic, bare-chested men wasn't more exciting than was healthy for her.

Girls were far more modest and demure when I was her age. I'm certain I was, and please don't bring up Maurice Barrymore. I was not madly infatuated with him. I merely maintained a respectful admiration for his skill and presence as an actor. He was very handsome though.

… It is a tribute to Grace's powers of persuasion and the fascists' bloodthirstiness that Joe Callahan and David Doyle, although they consider themselves faithful Catholics, understand and sympathize with the Spanish Republic's struggle. David Doyle has even offered a free hour's worth of boxing lessons as a raffle prize for the fundraiser. I was shamed by what he said when he declined Grace's thanks. "When my friends and I came back from the Great War there were no jobs … not much help. … not even many people who cared if we lived or died. You're trying to make sure that doesn't happen to the soldiers in this war. It's a privilege to be part of that."

I am not proud to admit it, but after my sons came home, I didn't spare much thought for their fellow veterans and some of the ones I did have were uncharitable. If some of them couldn't find jobs, I was absolutely certain that their failure was due to bad character. It took the Depression to make me realize that sometimes people really are beaten down by circumstances beyond their control no matter how honest and persevering they are. In times like that, it is the circumstances and not the people that need fixing.

Those of us in positions of responsibility in Canada after the war failed to take sufficient thought for the needs of returning soldiers and good men paid the price for our heedlessness. True, I was fully occupied with trying to hold the family business together in the wake of John's death. All of us were weary of war and its effects and none of us wanted to think of them anymore. Nonetheless, none of our excuses absolve us from failing in a sacred duty.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring, August 10, 1937

…Finally, some news about Johnny Pike came down the grapevine. I almost wish it hadn't. He is alive, but the bullet that wounded him damaged his spine. The doctors aren't sure that he will ever walk again. It will be a long time before he can leave the hospital. When he can travel, he will receive a medical discharge from the International Brigades.

There is a small silver lining, though. Sarah Beauchene, the noted painter and patron of the arts, really is a distant cousin of his. She is willing to take him into her home in Paris and care for him there. She nursed French soldiers during the Great War, so he will be in good hands. She is also wealthy enough that she can afford the best doctors and nurses to help.

She and her husband are in Spain and visit Johnny at the hospital regularly. She has charmed everyone in the ward, especially the Canadian patients, with her reminiscences about life on Prince Edward Island when she lived there as a little girl. Apparently, she is quite a storyteller.

I am still getting used to my transfer to the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion at [censored] and promotion to sergeant. Harry, Will, and Oscar are here too. Harry is now a corporal. I never thought MacLeod would swing the transfer, much less the promotions, but he did. Our [censored] instructors seem determined to turn us all into spit and polish model soldiers by applying the most up-to-date training methods. The new recruits lap it up like the eager beavers they are.

No doubt they'll show us old hands from the Lincoln Battalion what real soldiering is. To hear our instructors tell it, the new training will turn us all into fearless, invincible fighting men who laugh at shrapnel and bullets. Our brilliant superiors in battalion command will provide us with carefully-thought-out, foolproof battle plans. Our splendid artillery and armor support will be there when and where we need them.

Our fascist enemies will probably be so alarmed at all this boldness and efficiency that we won't even have to fight them. They'll just run away when they see us coming. I'm as sure of the higher ups' wisdom in this as I am that a Mary Pickford is your favorite cocktail. Even if things don't prove as easy as they say, more organization and discipline were needed.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

My heart tightened with anxiety when I read the line about the Mary Pickford. Van knew very well that the last time I drank one of those was while making the rounds of the Chicago nightclubs with him. That was the evening before the second and last hangover of my life. The worst of it was that we visited the Grand Terrace and I could barely remember Earl "Fatha" Hines' piano playing the next day. Van introduced me to my real favorite cocktail, the nonalcoholic St. Clements, when he took me back to the Grand Terrace the next night to make it up to me.

Not even the memory of Hines' sublime way with the ivories could keep me from feeling a little uneasy. I told myself that the constant stream of arms and equipment to the Spanish fascists from Germany and Italy in open violation of the Nonintervention Pact didn't give them a growing advantage. I told myself that the Republic's reverses in the Basque country and at Brunete were only temporary. Its military leadership would learn from past mistakes and find a way to win. Most of the time I even believed myself.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry August 10, 1937

I was examining Toppy's new selection of hats for the fall this morning when she and Rebecca Graham came up to me. From the expectant look on both their faces, I knew something was brewing. Toppy spoke up first to tell me that Rebecca had something she wanted to ask me. Rebecca hesitated a little and then got to the point. Could she recite Portia's speech on the quality of mercy from The Merchant of Venice in the talent contest at the Mac-Pap fundraiser?

Toppy had been coaching her in it. I asked the obvious question. It was Toppy who answered. Mr. Graham, although not very willing to allow Rebecca to perform for the benefit of Communists, is, nonetheless, susceptible to persuasion by his wife. He loves her dearly and is reluctant to refuse her anything.

I asked Rebecca to recite Portia's speech for me and she did. She was very affecting. Lynne Fontanne couldn't have done better, and I told her so. She hugged me and thanked me when I told her that she would make a fine addition to the talent contest. I couldn't help asking if she believed what Shakespeare was saying in Portia's speech. She said that she did.

I tried to be as gentle about what I said next as possible. I asked her if she didn't think it was time that she showed some mercy to Henry and Pritchard. Both boys are crazy about her. Is it really fair for her to take such shameless advantage of their feelings? Shouldn't she at least decide which one she wants to take to the End of Summer Dance without making them compete for the honor? She looked at me and told me very sincerely, "You're right. That's why I've decided to go with Pritchard. The poor guy has been so down in the dumps since his pen pal was wounded. Maybe I can cheer him up a little."

I was glad to hear her say that. Maybe she has a heart after all. I did caution her to be honest with Pritchard about her feelings for him. She's the only one who knows if she feels anything more for him than friendship and sympathy, but if she doesn't, she shouldn't let him think otherwise. That can only end badly for both of them.

From Transcript Ezekiel "Wanderin' Zeke" Bell Interview, June 5, 1973 by James O'Donnell, pgs. 16-17. Published in abridged form in Blues Alive Magazine vol. III, No.3 September,1973.

Bell: The furthest north I ever traveled from Mississippi when I was younger? That'd hafta be New Bedford. It's in Canada. Ontario. First time I ever went there was in '36 no '37. My sister an' her husband lived there. … I wen' up there t' see 'em two or three times before the war made travelin' damn near impossible fer anyone who wasn't rich. Old Johann was a friendly sort. He was always glad t' see me like I was his real brotha 'steada his in law. Ida sniffed and looked at me like I was an old pair a boots the dog chewed up. First thing outta her mouth was what was I runnin' from, a sheriff or an angry husband. I couldn' resist tellin' her both. You'd think the long arm a' the law woulda kept a better hold on a wife that pretty. My sister looked so horrified that I almost fell down laughin'. I told her she oughtta know I ain't that dumb. She looked me right in the eye an' said maybe not, but if I was smart, I'd give up strong whiskey an' weak women an' do like our nephew Isaiah back in Mississippi. He bought hisself a farm near Lexington when Roosevelt's resettlement program started sellin' cheap land even to colored. [Bell goes silent. For a moment looks sadly into nothing.]

O'Donnell: Mr. Bell . . .?

Bell: I miss my sister. She hardly had a good word to say about me from the moment I started playin' at Big Lou's frolickin' house when I was workin' on Mr. Dockery's plantation, but she never meant anything mean or hateful by it. You know what I'm sayin'?

O'Donnell: I have a brother and two sisters.

Bell: Then you definitely know what I'm sayin'. We woulda' gotten inta it real good when someone knocked on the door. Ida went to see who it was. That was the first time I met the woman who brought her and Johann up from West Virginia …. She [Grace Mainwaring] didn' look like no big wheel whose family founded New Bedford an' owned half of it. She wasn't no prissy old maid like Ida made her sound. She was a blonde, blue-eyed cutie who looked like she shoulda been in a coca-cola ad. Her smile could warm you across the room. Ida pointed me out to her. I bowed my head a little an' put on my best respectful manners, the kind ya get shot or whipped down South for forgetting. 'Pleasure t' meet you, Miss Grace."

She didn' even bat an eye. Aksed me to jes' call her Grace. None a them fine white Southern ladies back then woulda done that. Some of 'em expected you t' worship 'em like they was the baby Jesus just fer lettin' you breathe the same air they did. Grace was jes' a friendly gal. Course when I say friendly, I don' mean easy, jes' good-natured. Anyway, I was gettin' over bein' treated like a person 'steada a pet monkey when she said Ida done told 'er that I knew Charley Patton, which I did. We both learned how to play blues guitar from ol' Henry Sloan. I couldn't figure how someone as respectable as Grace knew 'bout 'im.

Turns out her husband had a few a Charley's records. She found 'em a little rough an' raw but thought that there was somethin' true in 'em. Then she asked me what kinda blues I played. Good 'ol Ida was lookin' at me like I was snorin' in church. I jes' had to devil her an' I never could resist an audience. I tol' Grace I'd show her. Then I got the guitar outta th' case an' started playin' one a my own songs, "Sunflower Bottom Blues" 'Course I cleaned it up a little. We were in my sister's parlor an' not Messenger's on a Saturday night. [Closes his eyes and sings for a moment.] "Down in the Sunflower bottom so deep that the sun don' shine/Down in the Sunflower bottom so deep that the sun don' shine/There lives a mean, mean woman won' ever let me make her mine. …."

… Johann an' I were talkin' boxing. He asked me who I thought was goin' to win the Louis-Farr fight. I thought Louis after what he did t' Braddock. He might even stay champ as long as Jack Johnson. I had no idea Grace heard that 'til she turned her head from her talk with Ida. She said her father bet on Johnson to win the Jeffries fight.

You ain't never seen a conversation stop so cold. Johann, Ida 'n me jus' sat there with our mouths hangin' open jus' lookin' at Grace. Didn' seem like that woman ever run outta surprises. T' most white people before WWI, Jack Johnson was bad nigger number one what with his white wives an' take-no-bull attitude. Even in the '30's that hadn' changed much. When Grace said maybe she'd better explain, I jes' nodded. Then I settled back. That was one story I jes' couldn' wait t' hear.

Next Post: A barbershop bet. The annual Silverdome Mining Company Fishing Tournament and Royal Dominion Bank Picnic.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

In the summer of 1910, all New Bedford was buzzing about the upcoming fight between current heavyweight champion Jack Johnson and former heavyweight champion Jim Jeffries. When my father calmly maintained that Johnson was going to win and probably without much trouble, most of the town thought he was crazy. Jeffries had retired as undefeated world heavyweight champion. Johnson was considered an arrogant pretender who had been lucky enough to fight weak opponents. The consensus was that against a splendid specimen of white manhood like Jeffries, a Negro blowhard like Johnson stood no chance.

Father was completely undisturbed by our neighbors' attitude. He continued to maintain that Johnson would win decisively. When pressed to give his reasons, he was happy to do so. Unlike anyone else in New Bedford, he had actually seen both Jeffries and Johnson fight.

In 1903 in San Francisco, he had witnessed Jim Corbett almost take Jeffries' heavyweight title in twenty-five rounds in a dazzling exhibition of speed and skill compensating for lost years and strength. Six years later, he had been a spectator at an exhibition bout in Vancouver between Johnson and the same Victor McLaglen who later became an Oscar-winning actor. Johnson had won on points, although it was clear to anyone there that if Johnson had wanted to do more than simply demonstrate his skill, McLaglen would have been lucky to make it to the end of the first round.

Even in 1903, Jeffries didn't have Johnson's speed and technique and probably not his raw power. Father saw no possible way that he could prevail seven years later. Most of his neighbors continued to believe differently even when confronted with the eyewitness testimony of a man who had been an avid and knowledgeable boxing fan since John L. Sullivan's time. Such is the power of deeply ingrained prejudice.

Mother didn't mind that father had set himself dead against the opinion of most of the community. She did mind when he took a barbershop bet on Jeffries from a friend who challenged him to put his money where his mouth was. As a good Presbyterian, she didn't believe in gambling on the grounds that it discouraged hard work and thrift through the illusion of easy money.

Father didn't think there was any harm in the occasional friendly bet. Father was usually able to keep the ones he made quiet, but his willingness to put good money on Johnson brought out half the town to bet against him. The news was certain to get out. Father's argument that it isn't gambling if your opponent doesn't have a chance of winning carried no weight with Mother. They argued politely but firmly for a week over whether his prospective winnings were ill-gotten gains or generous gifts which it would be ungracious to refuse.

If Mother had known that my brothers were making their own bets on Jack Johnson with their schoolmates, she would have hit the roof. I suppose that it was admirable of them to have such absolute trust in their father in the face of near universal doubt in the schoolyard and more than a few jeers and insults. However, the ruthlessness with which they took every bet they could on what they were unshakably convinced was a sure thing was shameless. When I think of some of the mischief those two got up to when they were kids, I can hardly believe that they grew up to be such upstanding adults.

There were long faces all over New Bedford the day after Johnson inflicted a crushing defeat on Jeffries. Father donated his winnings to the new University Settlement House in Toronto and not just to quiet mother's misgivings about gambling. He felt that a lot of people had helped him over the years to get where he was, so he had an obligation to help others. My brothers spent their winnings on dime novels and penny candy.

Soon afterwards, the whole family was out for a Sunday constitutional when Hank Wilamot approached father and demanded to know how he could bet against his own race. I never forgot his good-natured answer. "I belong to the human race and I didn't bet against that. I bet against fools who saw skin color instead of sense."

From Transcript Ezekiel "Wanderin' Zeke" Bell Interview, June 5, 1973 by James O'Donnell, pgs. 16-17. Published in abridged form in Blues Alive Magazine vol. III, No.3 September,1973. cont.

O'Donnell: This was in 1910?

Bell: Sure was. 'Splains a lot about 'er, don' it. I'd like t' have met her daddy. He musta really been somethin'. Ida aksed if that Hank Wilamot was any relation t' the butcher who kept tryin' to give her the worst cuts a meat when she went shoppin'. Grace 'lowed that the butcher did the same t' her an' that Hank Wilamot was his daddy. Ida woulda liked t' see Hank Wilamot's face when Jeffries got whipped. 'Course she thought it was a shame that the black man that did it had t' be a no 'count sportin' man. She looked right at me when she said it was too bad we ain't all like her oldest boy Josh who goes t' church on Sunday an' looks after his family. Like I didn' send Martha money for our Daisy an visit ev'ry chance I got. I told Ida so. Grace aksed about Daisy before Ida could say anythin' else. I showed her the snapshot a my little girl I always carried aroun'. … I don' suppose I blame Ida fer bein' a little edgy. With her youngest boy away at war an' her oldest fightin' the Pullman Company with the Sleepin' Car Brotherhood she had a lot to worry about.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan August 16, 1937

I am happy to say that the annual Silverdome Mining Company Fishing Tournament and Royal Dominion Bank Picnic was a splendid success. We had visitors from as far away as Sudbury. Joe Callahan's training camp was very popular with them. There were nearly as many participants in the tournament as there were the last time it was held.

Honey could not have been more relieved. If Max's plan to erase Bas Lake's reputation as a plague spot hadn't worked, the annual tournament and picnic would likely have ended for good and he would have taken the blame. Fortunately, New Bedford's merchants have every reason to be happy with the business they did this year.

Grace is happy that the talent contest and raffle brought in over $150 in ticket sales. I wouldn't tell her this, but unless the Spanish Republic's high command manages to elevate its present low standards of generalship, the Friends of the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion Rehabilitation Fund will almost certainly need every penny. It's a good thing she did such a fine job of organizing everything. Having one of the three talent contest judges come from Pinebury and another from Northbridge and then publicizing the fact in the Pinebury Bugle and the Northbridge Herald was a brilliant way of attracting attention to the entire affair.

Personally, I think that Maisie should have won the contest instead of coming in second. There is no question of her skill with the piano, even if she did insist on playing that nerve-jangling stride music. However, the boy who won did have an astonishing voice.

Toppy may be exaggerating in calling him a second John McCormack, but not by very much. It's a shame that Honey couldn't have been there to hear him. McCormack is her favorite singer. However, she continues to insist on offering no public support to the Spanish Republic and its defenders. It was still generous of her to make an under-the-table donation to the rehabilitation fund out of sympathy for wounded soldiers.

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring August 22, 1937

Congratulations on your transfer to the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion. I am glad that you have managed to stay with Harry, Will, and Oscar and that Harry is now a corporal. It comforts me to think of the four of you looking after each other. Tell Oscar that his mother enjoyed the Silverdome Fishing Tournament and Royal Dominion Bank Picnic.

The crowd gave her a warm reception when she said a few words about him to encourage them to buy raffle and talent show tickets. Mother and I were delighted to have her as a guest. She was a little sad though. The tournament reminded her of all the times when Oscar was a little boy and his father took him and his brother fishing. He was so happy when she made the first trout he ever caught into mojakka-a Finnish fish soup that sounds absolutely delicious.

Tell Harry that his Uncle Zeke also made a hit at the picnic playing requests in exchange for donations to the Friends of the Mac-Paps Rehabilitation Fund. I can see why he has been doing so well playing for tips at the Cramps' beer parlor while he's here. I was a little surprised when I first heard about that. I didn't know the beer parlor crowd liked blues. When I mentioned it to Zeke, he just smiled and said that wasn't what he played there.

When I asked him what he did play, he sat down and performed a more-than-creditable version of "When I Take My Sugar to Tea." He sounded a lot like Lonnie Johnson. I still think it's ridiculous that Eddie Lang had to use an alias on those amazing records he and Johnson made together just because he was white and Johnson was black. Zeke explained the change in his style. "A workin' musician hasta play what the audience wants. If he don't, he don' eat. Sometimes, he don' eat anyway."

Ida wasn't happy about Zeke spending time at the beer parlor but was appeased a little when he also got some carpentry and painting work from the Cramps and others. She also took comfort in knowing that he refused to go near Bryant's Nook. That's a roadhouse outside of town with a bad reputation owned by two white Southerners with bad reputations of their own.

Tate Bryant supposedly came here because the cold air slowed his galloping consumption down to a crawl. However, according to Zeke, he and his partner Phil Reeves got on the wrong side of some dangerous people in a wide-open neighborhood across the Pearl River from the Mississippi state capital called the Gold Coast. They had to beat it across the Mason-Dixon line fast if they wanted to stay among the living.

After Sunday dinner, Zeke talked to me about his daughter. She sounds like a beautiful child. He told me that he used to love hopping a freight and traveling as far as he could ride. Now he doesn't want to be too far from his little girl for too long. After the engagements his friend has lined up for him in Chicago starting next week, he hopes to go back to Mississippi and see her again.

… Darling Van, I miss you so much. Every night I sink down beside my bed and pray like a child on my knees for your safe return. I can't believe that after everything you have already been through that God will not keep you in his care and see you safely home.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring August 23, 1937

… I wish I could share your faith. I can see how it inspires you to do good to others and makes you a better person. However, I find it very hard to believe that a creator made us and gave us souls that are immortal. For a little while we glimmer like lantern flames in the dark. Then we slowly dim or go out all at once.

I fear that when that happens whatever fuel it is that sustains our light is gone forever. I could be wrong. I hope I am. Eternity may still be too short a time to spend with you. A lifetime is definitely not long enough. I want to believe that I will see you again, if not on this side of the grave then somewhere else.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry August 30,1937

… The End of Summer Dance hasn't changed much at all since we were little girls. I can still see Mother gliding across the floor in father's arms back before the accident on the front steps of the post office permanently injured her left leg. Both had eyes for no one but each other.

Your parents weren't too bad at tripping the light fantastic either. Mother sends them her regards. As we made our way to our table, she reminded me that our family hasn't missed one End of Summer Dance since it was started a few years before I was born.

All the lovers were there-Max and Honey, Archie and Toppy, and Ollie and Marjorie. Audrey Collins even came in from Northbridge for an evening with Jim Flett. They made the most of seeing each other in person. With school about to start, both of them will be too busy teaching to do that again for a while.

Pritchard and Rebecca were also there. Pritchard looked very handsome in his best suit. Rebecca was lovely in green. They made an adorable couple. Henry wouldn't even come. He actually volunteered to stay at home and look after his little brother and sister.

I walked over there for a few minutes to try and cheer him up and to play with Violet and Zack. I don't think I lightened his dismal mood much. For him, Rebecca is the only girl in the world and any attention she pays to Pritchard is a catastrophe.

Hub came to the dance but wasn't in a much better mood than his brother. Laura has been sent to a Catholic boarding school for the fall and won't be back in New Bedford until Christmas. Mother had a word with Mr. Bridgeman about his behavior towards that poor girl, but whatever she had to say only put his back up.

… I wish Van and I had been in New Bedford last year when the End of Summer Dance was held. It would have meant so much to be in his arms here where I've seen so many people dance by me with no thought of anything but their love for each other.

I remember the one time I ever came to the End of Summer Dance with a sweetheart. It was the summer of 1920 and Judd Wainwright took me. I wonder where he is today. Of course, Mother didn't think he was good enough for me, but we didn't care. We were head over heels for each other. When Judd kissed me under the lanterns, I thought I knew everything there was to know about love.

It wasn't until Van and I found it in ourselves to forgive each other after our terrible quarrel last year that I truly understood that love isn't something you know all about the moment you fall for someone. It's something you learn about over a lifetime day by day, year by year, mistake by mistake, joy by joy. Maybe you never do learn all there is to know of it. Maybe you die not knowing everything, but what you do know is enough to make a lifetime worth living.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton September 6, 1937

It was good of Grace to agree to teach Henry to drive so that Max would have at least a little time in the day to work on his play. Henry was disappointed that he couldn't sweet talk his aunt into letting him take his lessons in the roadster Van bought her instead of her old Ford. No doubt it would have impressed Rebecca to see him tooling around in such an elegant job, but Grace's soft spot for her nephews is in her heart, not her head. She remembers the damage Hub did to the Ford's bumper and right headlight when Max taught him to drive last fall. If I were her, I wouldn't trust a beauty like her roadster to a beginning driver either.

My new correspondence course in world history looks challenging, although not as challenging as holding my temper at the rudeness and insensitivity of some of Grace's critics. In the beauty shop today, I overheard Mrs. Hartsfield complaining to Mrs. Grady that her friends in Pinebury and Northbridge can't believe how Grace gets away with murder just because her family founded New Bedford and her mother is its leading citizen. Apparently, some of the young people in those towns actually admire her.

Mrs. Grady asked her what else was to be expected of a thoughtless snip with no regard for anyone but herself. I felt tempted to commit murder there and then. I don't agree with everything Grace has done this past year, but she has always acted out of a sincere desire to do the right thing and a deep concern for the welfare of others.

Of course, troubles often come in pairs. Mr. Bridgeman was even worse. This evening Grace and I were walking down the sidewalk between CRNB and the New Bedford Inn. I was looking forward to having her as a supper guest.

Mr. Bridgeman marched up to us and waved a pamphlet under Grace's nose. I recognized it as a copy of the Joint Letter of the Spanish Bishops on the War in Spain. After determining that Grace had read it, Mr. Bridgeman, smugly asked her what she thought of its refutation of her arguments in favor of the Republic. She looked him straight in the eye and coolly replied that, "the Spanish Bishops are either the most shameless liars or the most naïve idiots I've ever run across."

I was shocked that Grace would be so contemptuous of the church hierarchy. I was even more shocked that I couldn't help agreeing with her. The last thing I would call Franco's reign of terror against the Spanish people is "efforts to restore to Spain a regime of peace and justice." When there are two wrongs, it is the duty of good Catholics to condemn both, not to support the wrong that seems most likely to offer the Church power and privilege.

Mr. Bridgeman went red in the face and spluttered. He could barely choke out the words, "How dare you?"

Grace remained perfectly calm and dignified. "Mr. Bridgeman, you apologized to me a month ago for haranguing me in the street, I'm sorry to see that you weren't sincere. I don't think we have anything else to say to each other."

Mr. Bridgeman had the decency to look ashamed but said nothing. Grace turned her back on him and walked away. I followed her.

Hub still feels a vocation from God to the priesthood but is even more troubled than I am about the direction the church is taking. As far as he is concerned, the Pope should be ordering Franco to stop murdering civilians and prisoners of war on pain of excommunication, not giving official diplomatic recognition to his dictatorship.

Next Post-in two weeks: Fascism rising. A conversation about faith. Parents and daughters. Fuentes de Ebro.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

As summer turned to autumn, howling insanity gathered strength and advanced across the face of the world bringing the mass grave and the prison camp in its wake. Hope of checking its advance began to fade. In China, the Asian fascists of the Imperial Japanese Army began a campaign of terror and slaughter against civilians that made Franco's look like a model of humanity and civilization by comparison.

In Spain, Santander fell to the fascists. It was the last major city on the northern front and its capture left the Republican forces there hanging on by their fingernails. Further south, on the Aragon front, Van's old comrades in the Abraham Lincoln Battalion took two fiercely defended Spanish towns, Quinto and Belchite.

A handful of them shot a handful of fascist officers taken prisoner at both places on orders of the brigade high command. This was a blot on an otherwise honorable record of which I only learned after the war. It does not change the fact that the fascists' record was almost all blot.

The Lincolns' success temporarily bolstered my slowly fading belief in ultimate Republican victory. However, Quinto and Belchite were small victories that failed to prevent the Fascists from resuming their offensive in the north and carrying it to a successful conclusion. I had to bring the news of the death of one Lincoln Battalion soldier and the wounding of two others to their New Bedford pen pals. When I told them that the good cause in which their friends had fought was not also a doomed cause, I spoke with more confidence than I truly felt.

The leaders of the democracies persisted in the delusion that Hitler, Franco and their ilk were reasonable men instead of power-crazed sociopaths. Too many Canadians, I am sorry to say, agreed with them or felt that Europe's dictators were someone else's problem. Those of us who knew better did what little we could.

In Europe only a handful of the disregarded and the dispossessed dared stand against the fascists. They had courage and what little aid could be smuggled in past the nonintervention blockade from Russia or from their few friends in the democracies. However, the nonintervention pact remained in force, depriving the Republic they served of the arms and munitions it needed to save itself while allowing Hitler and Mussolini to arm Franco's forces and support them with air power at will. As autumn wore on, defeat and despair continued to diminish their numbers and their hope.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring September 8, 1937

The news of the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters' victory in their contract negotiations with the Pullman Company has cheered all of us up. Harry is very proud of his older brother. He knows that he and his fellow Pullman porters have worked long and hard for better working conditions and recognition of their union.

Don't underrate your homemaking column just because the Cramps' virtually blackmailed you into it. I've known enough spoiled daughters of privilege who needed servants to do everything for them that I'm proud to have a wife who can shift for herself if she needs to. … I am glad that you enjoyed the End of Summer Dance. Sorry I couldn't keep my promise to take you there this year.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry September 9, 1937

Fr. Fitzroy spoke to me this afternoon while I was eating my lunch at the gazebo. We had an illuminating, if extremely long, conversation. Please bear with me if it takes me awhile to tell about it. He asked after my health and conveyed his housekeeper's compliments on my latest column. I was flattered that she thought well of my hints on how to prepare the garden for winter.

After a little more pleasant chat, he spoke about Hub. He was kind enough to say that my nephew respected and admired me. However, he felt that I was influencing him in a direction that was causing him to question his vocation. Then he thanked me for that and added that I was doing Hub a favor.

Anyone could have knocked me over with a feather at that point. Fr. Fitzroy quickly explained that it was far better for Hub to confront any serious doubts or questions he might have about the priesthood now than after he has taken his vows. None of the vows is easy to keep and obedience is the hardest of all. Hub needs to decide if he can be obedient to the church hierarchy even when its members take positions on vital issues with which he may disagree. It is a test of faith.

Fr. Fitzroy believes that none of us can avoid times of trial and doubt in our lives. Also, that a lack of these things poses its own dangers. It is his experience that a faith that is never tried or examined is apt to be shallow and blinkered.

I have to agree. I couldn't help remembering the words of one of those spirituals which Ida loves so much. "You got t' walk that lonesome valley./ You gotta walk it by yourself./ Ain't nobody else can walk it for you./ You gotta walk it by yourself."

Fr. Fitzroy also asked me to be patient with Mr. Bridgeman. He went through a very dark time not so long ago. His parents died within a couple of years of each other. He lost most of his money in the crash. He had to spend a year away from his family because he couldn't afford to keep them with him. The only thing that got him through was his Catholic faith. The church was his refuge when the world seemed determined to drive him to his knees.

To him, any criticism of the church is an attack on the very foundations of his life. It is hard for him to realize that not all such criticism is made in a spirit of malice or bad faith. Sometimes men and women of goodwill see things differently. Fr. Fitzroy has tried to guide Mr. Bridgeman, but the path of understanding is sometimes long and difficult.

Fr. Fitzroy then asked me to guide him on the path to understanding my support for the Republic. Did I really believe that Franco, Hitler, and Mussolini, questionable as many of their actions and policies may be, could possibly be a bigger threat to civilization than Stalin and his Communist followers. I allowed that Stalin is a bloodthirsty dictator and that I have no love for him or his regime. However, he is a bloodthirsty dictator in Russia, not in Spain.

Franco is already dictator of half of Spain and doing his best to conquer the rest through wholesale slaughter. His friends Hitler and Mussolini are helping him and if they succeed, they won't stop until they dominate Europe and perhaps not even then. It isn't a good idea to focus all of your attention on the lone wolf far off in the hills when an entire ravening wolf pack is forcing its way through your door.

Robert Bailey to Grace Mainwaring, September 14, 1937

Diana and I are looking forward to your visit to Toronto next week. We both hope that your consultation with Mr. Garnett about Van's holdings and investments will go well. It is very important to plan for each fiscal year in advance. The Cohens are looking forward to meeting you. They asked me to thank you for your and Mother's donations to the Jewish Immigrant Aid Society in memory of their son.

…Doris has taken to debutante life like a duck to water. She is practically glowing with excitement these days. I wish she would be a little less flirtatious, though. From the way she behaves when boys are around, you would think she had never seen one before.

… Give Mr. and Mrs. Yuen my regards and Diana's. We were charmed by Mrs. Yuen's recital of Tang Dynasty poems at the talent contest, particularly Li Po's about Lu Mountain in Kiangsi. The whole world could use some of the serenity he speaks about. Our prayers are with Mr. Yuen's parents in Shanghai. We hope that they are safe in spite of the Japanese siege of the city. Here in Toronto, some of the local Chinese-Canadians are already raising money for war relief for China.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring September 20, 1937

We are being hurried all over the Spanish countryside and have no idea where we'll finally end up. Hopefully, neither does the enemy. The boys in my squad asked me to thank you and the Friends of the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion. Your parcels reached us just before our odyssey began.

The Hershey bars disappeared almost instantly. So did Mrs. Schmitz' pralines. … It's strange. I started out taking one green kid under my wing. Now I have an entire squad. The responsibility is sometimes intimidating.

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring September 30, 1937

… Responsibility can be a hard thing, but I know you will live up to yours. I believe in what you and your comrades are doing in Spain and I believe in you. … Diana is expecting a baby in April. Bob is overjoyed at the prospect of becoming a father again.

He knows that he made mistakes with Doris when she was growing up. He admits he should have spent more time with her and that he shouldn't have spoiled her when they were together. He promises to be a better father this time around. For myself, I am looking forward to meeting my new niece or nephew.

… Mr. Yuen has had bad news from Shanghai. His mother was killed when the Japanese indiscriminately bombarded the city. They have no regard for the safety of civilians. Mr. Yuen was understandably subdued when I offered him my sympathies. I could tell that he was very much affected by his loss. Fortunately, his father has escaped Shanghai. He is now safe with his older brother's family. The brother owns a clothing store in the Chinese capital, a place called Nanking.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring, October 9, 1937

We rested for a few hours yesterday in a town which I will not name. The Thaelmann Battalion was also there. Harry's cousin Gottfried was with them. Aside from the difference in skin color and Gottfried's straight hair, the resemblance between the two of them really is remarkable. Between Gottfried's bad English and Harry's worse German, they had to work to make themselves understood to each other. As my German is serviceable, I was roped in to smooth out the rough spots.

As old hands, we compared our experiences on the battlefield and on leave. It turns out Gottfried shares his cousin's interest in attractive women. I should say that the stories they exchanged of them were nostalgic not crude. Gottfried was interested to hear of his uncle and aunt in Canada and his cousins in America. He remembers his father talking about how wild and adventurous his Uncle Johann was as a young man. Immigrating to America was a lark to him. Apparently, he really did toss a 50 pfennig piece to decide between there and Australia. …

… On some nights, the moon is bright and the stars glitter enticingly. It seems that if I stood on the top of the nearest hill, I could just touch them with the tips of my fingers. I dream sometimes of plucking the moon from the sky like a pearl from the meat of an oyster and placing it in your lovely hand whose gentle touch I can still feel, even across an ocean.

I dream of putting the stars one by one on a string to make a necklace. I see that necklace resting on that soft white throat that I have kissed so many times. I am only dreaming. The moon and the stars are farther away than any human hand can reach. Only the war is near.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry October 12, 1937

… I love Maisie like a sister, but her cooking continues to be a test of endurance. Last night, she tried to make chicken casserole. I have never eaten anything so heavy and greasy in my life. It would have been easier to digest an anvil.

Mother and I were slumped in our chairs in the parlor afterwards trying to recover. Maisie went away to prepare for bed. Perhaps if she hadn't spoken so cheerfully as she exited the room of serving the rest of the casserole as leftovers tomorrow night, I would have been less cranky.

Instead, when Mother and I were alone, I suggested to her only half joking that maybe Maisie could get a job as a cook on Devil's Island. Mother looked at me with an expression of doubt and horror. She replied that not even the cruelest prison authorities could possibly be that inhumane.

Still, I have to hand it to Maisie. She continues to be a friend to Hub in his troubles, always lending him a sympathetic ear. It's good of her to spend so much time with him when things are so rough for him.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

… On October 12, the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion and a much-battered Abraham Lincoln Battalion arrived at the bottom of a long upward slope at the top of which rested the heavily fortified village of Fuentes De Ebro. They established their lines and waited through the night battered by a fierce rainstorm. The high command decided not to screen Fuentes de Ebro with a small force and go on to the main objective of Zaragossa as they should have.

The next day, the Republican forces including the Mac-Paps and the Lincolns were expected to charge over two kilometers of mostly open space and across an arroyo in the teeth of rifle and machine gun fire. They were promised air, artillery, and tank support. What they got, especially the artillery, was inadequate to the task and badly coordinated, although some of the tank crews and the Republican soldiers they carried did show considerable courage.

Suffering heavy casualties, the Mac-Paps and the Lincolns reached the edge of the arroyo and there were forced to go to ground. Van and his comrades in Company Three on the right flank of the Mac-Paps had better cover and didn't suffer as badly as the rest of the battalion.

They lay face down until nightfall hoping not to be noticed by machine gunners or snipers. Creeping back to their lines under cover of darkness, they passed their dead sprawled and rigid on the soggy ground and brought back as many of their wounded as they could.

Robert Bailey to May Bailey October 21, 1937

Diana and I are happy to hear that Van, Harry, Oscar, and Will made it through the battle at Fuentes de Ebro unharmed. As a former soldier, I am very impressed by their ability to survive bloodbaths that kill off their less fortunate comrades in droves. However, they worry me tremendously. For one man to come unhurt through four frontal assaults on fortified lines is amazing. For three out of four to do the same should be impossible. I can't help wondering how much longer luck like that can hold out.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

… One night, Toppy confided her worries about Doris to Mother and me. It was bad enough that the child was running with a fast set and developing a fondness for late nights and cocktails. Jerry Belham, the handsome shipping heir she was growing fond of, had a reputation as a devil with the ladies.

Toppy hoped and so did I that she wouldn't do anything foolish. Toppy told me that she wished she could have had more children. Maybe she and Bob would have tried harder to be good parents. Maybe Doris would be a more stable person.

I thought she was being unfair to herself and Bob. They gave Doris all the love a child could want. Toppy looked at me sadly. "Love alone isn't enough. Children also need care. Bob and I were always too busy, him with his work and me with my clubs."

Mother interrupted. "All parents make mistakes with their children. Heaven knows, I've made worse ones than you and Bob ever did. But most children find their way in spite of that. Doris will too."

I reflected to myself that Mother was probably right, but I hoped that Doris wouldn't take as long as her father had.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry October 25, 1937

Mrs. Bridgeman spoke to Toppy today. She was very upset. Laura isn't taking well at all to being sent away from New Bedford. Her father told the nuns about her sympathies for the Spanish Republic. They have been very severe with her about them. She has even been strapped a couple of times. I hate to think of her suffering for ideas to which I exposed her.

She is doing well enough academically, especially in history, literature, and art. I'm told she has a real talent for sketching. She always was a good student, even under the worst of circumstances. However, she refuses to write to her father or answer any of his letters. She was terse and barely civil to him when he and Mrs. Bridgeman visited her for Parents Day.

He is very deeply hurt but will only say that he can't help it if she refuses to see sense. Laura does exchange letters with Mrs. Bridgeman, but no amount of urging will persuade her to communicate with her father. According to Toppy, there were tears in Mrs. Bridgeman's eyes when she told her that Laura and her father were so alike. They have the same stubbornness, especially in defending what they believe to be right. She wishes that they could see how much they need each other.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring November 3, 1937

… What happened to poor Will between the lines at Fuentes de Ebro is no one's fault but mine. He trusted me to look after him and wound up being carried off on a stretcher with at least two bullets in him. I shouldn't have picked him for that patrol, but everyone knows we joined the Internationals together and a sergeant can't be seen playing favorites. I lived up to my responsibility and Will almost died for it. Maybe you shouldn't keep waiting for my return. People trust me and I end up hurting them.

Next Post: War and the church. One soldier's return. Another soldier's silence.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring November 14, 1937

You are too hard on yourself, Van. Will has lost his right arm below the elbow, but he is going to live. Harry wrote us about how you carried Will out of no man's land after he was hit and were almost cut down by a machine gun for your trouble. The Lanes are fine people and you spared them the agony of mourning their son. That was a brave and decent thing and I am proud of you for it.

Will's recovery won't be easy. However, the Friends of the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion Rehabilitation Fund will help him. He will have the best treatment possible. I talked to Mother and there will be a job for him when his recovery is done. Please, don't ever suggest that I turn away from you again. I will wait for you, not just because I love you, but because you are a good man and worth waiting for.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton November 22, 1937

Mr. Bridgeman refuses to instruct the nuns at St. Martha's to allow Grace to write a letter to Laura. Laura respects Grace and Mrs. Bridgeman is sure that Grace could persuade her to reconcile with her father. I talked to Grace earlier today. She agrees that Laura is making a mistake in cutting herself off from her father, however wrong he is in trying to force her to abandon her opposition to Franco.

At least her schoolwork hasn't suffered, especially her drawing. Althea showed me some still life and animal sketches she had made. They were a little rough, but they have vitality. With practice, she might achieve something really fine someday.

Regretfully, I have to agree with Grace that the American Catholic bishops have also made a mistake in releasing their Letter to the Spanish Hierarchy supporting their Spanish colleagues' stand for Franco. She does believe that the American bishops are being naïve rather than deliberately dishonest. She gives them credit for also issuing a letter condemning Hitler and the Nazis. However, she considers that condemnation extremely self-serving. The focus is almost entirely on the wrongs done to the church. The crimes committed by the Nazi regime against the Jews are barely hinted at.

The only consolation in all this is that there has been no collective statement supporting the Spanish hierarchy from Canada's bishops. Grace isn't sure if this is because our bishops have more sense than their American counterparts or because there is no Canadian equivalent of America's National Council of Catholic Bishops to organize one. The difficulty of getting French-Canadian Catholic bishops and Irish-Canadian Catholic bishops to put aside the bad feelings between them over the issue of bilingual schools for French Canadians may also have something to do with it. Whatever the reason or reasons, Canada has been spared an embarrassment.

Hub is also unhappy about these developments. He wonders if maybe they are part of why God is calling him to the priesthood. He is certain that now more than ever, the church needs priests who will work and fight for God's poor rather than deliver them into the hands of dictators whether fascist or Communist. The Catholic Workers in America and the Antigonish movement in Canada have proven that such priests and their work exist and can provide an alternative to both fascism and Communism.

Hub may be right in believing that such work must be the future of the church if it is to have any future at all. The question is will it? Hub looks to Spain and fears that if the church hierarchy there and their supporters continue to betray the people into the hands of fascist mass murderers, the people will not forget … or forgive.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan November 23, 1937

It was a shock to see Will Lane get off the train this past Saturday. He was thin when he left New Bedford, but now he isn't much wider than a yardstick. Grace has heard stories about food shortages in Republican Spain from her contacts in Toronto and her brother-in-law's in New York. If the soldiers are not being adequately fed, I can't imagine how the civilians are faring.

It was even more awful to see Will's right sleeve pinned up because he no longer has an arm with which to fill it below the elbow. He has to do everything with his left hand now. Still, at least he is alive which is more than can be said for that poor sergeant whose rank Harry Schmitz assumed after he was killed at Fuentes de Ebro.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring November 28, 1937

I am glad that Will is improving and grateful for what you and your mother are doing for him. I am also grateful for your kind words although I don't feel brave or decent, just tired and used up. I train more apprehensive Spanish farm boys as replacements for our losses and wonder how many will make it through the next battle.

Don't ever think I don't love you, Grace. However, the longer this war goes on and the more blood I see spilled, the harder it becomes to believe that I will ever see you again. I can't help wondering if I have any more chance of coming back to you than of keeping my old promise to get you the moon and all the stars. Even if I do come back, will you recognize the person I have become?

From the Journal of Honey Sutton November 28, 1937

Will Lane wasn't very talkative at Sunday dinner. He was uncomfortable with the children's adulation of him. Grace made chicken ala king, not the usual Sunday dinner fare. I asked her why. She admitted that she did it so that Will wouldn't need to have someone else cut his meat for him because he has no right hand anymore to hold a knife. Dr. Barlow assures us that the split hook on the new artificial limb he will be getting from the Hosmer Dorrance Company will solve that problem. Apparently, it performs with nearly all the strength and dexterity of a real hand.

Max took Grace up on her suggestion that he offer a sympathetic ear to Will as his former teacher and as a fellow veteran who understands what it is like to come home from a war. They were together in May's conservatory for quite a while. Max was somber afterwards. He said little except that Will was doing fairly well for someone who has spent a year on speaking terms with death. Will was the first of his students to go to war against fascism. He wishes he could believe that he'll be the last. …

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry December 6, 1937

… Henry couldn't be happier with the way things are going for him. His driving lessons are finished in spite of some early misadventures with my Ford that I thought might finish me. His new enthusiasm for automobiles is impressing Rebecca, although it seems that every week he comes up with a new way to try and sweet talk me into letting him drive my roadster.

Rebecca is in seventh heaven. Iris Barlow is letting her help with the costumes for the United Church annual nativity pageant. Working at Toppy's dress shop has sharpened her skills as a seamstress. She still dreams of being an actress but is willing to get her foot in the door first as a wardrobe mistress.

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring December 8, 1937

… I refuse to believe anything but that we will one day be together again. I can hardly bear the thought of losing you, especially after what Will reluctantly told me about Jarama, Brunete, and Fuentes de Ebro after I showed him your last letter. Two months ago, he would have had a hard time believing that he would ever survive this terrible war. Now he is back home with his parents again.

If you could see them reunited, I think some of your fears would be eased. Will is a different person than before he went to war, and not just in the loss of his arm. He is more subdued, and he wasn't exactly talkative before.

He is also a little skittish. His mother told me that just the other day, she accidentally dropped a pan she was washing onto some of the dishes in the sink and he threw himself to the floor. He doesn't spend much time with his old friends anymore.

He takes long walks at all hours. He talks to Max and one or two other Great War veterans more than he does his own parents. Nonetheless, the Lanes love their son and their joy and relief at having him back home with them matters far more to them than any adjustments they have to make to the person he has become. Whatever this war does to you, how can you think it would be any different between us?

From the Journal of Honey Sutton December 16, 1937

… Mrs. Bridgeman spoke to me after the Ladies' Sodality meeting today. She is at her wits' end. Laura continues to give her father the cold shoulder. She hasn't sent him a single letter all fall and since she returned to New Bedford for Christmas refuses to speak to him any more than absolutely necessary. All I could tell her was that she may or may not like the advice Toppy gave her about her problem, but if Laura refuses to listen to her or her father, she may have no choice but to take it.

… Max has finished the first draft of his new play A Miner's Son. I think it has some terrific dialogue and characterizations, although it still needs a strong central thread to give it coherence. It's uncomfortable knowing that the story and characters are based on Max's own life. The scenes of the hero, his brother, and their mother suffering at the hands of his brutal, drunken father are harrowing. Max rarely speaks of his childhood and if that's what it was like, I don't blame him. I suppose that he learned the kindness and gentleness he shows our children from his mother.

Henry is feeling discouraged because his latest plea to be allowed to take Rebecca to the movies in his aunt's roadster has fallen on deaf ears. Grace refuses to budge on her terms. Henry can use her old Ford anytime he needs to borrow a car. If he can go a year without an accident, then he can borrow her roadster. I almost laughed when he complained that "Aunt Grace never used to be this stubborn."

I couldn't help but observe that in the past year, she's had a lot of practice.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan December 16, 1937

… Grace and Mr. Bridgeman continue to be scrupulously polite to each other at work, but the chill between them is so severe that we might as well have held Tuesday's board meeting in an arctic blizzard. Mr. Graham has also made his displeasure at Grace's dedication to the cause of the Republic known to me on a couple of previous occasions. He once told me that he would never let Rebecca behave as Grace does. However, he seems to understand that Grace is a grown woman and long past the age when I can make her do anything even if I were so inclined.

Unlike Mr. Bridgeman, he doesn't seem disposed to worry himself half to death over things he can't change. I am grateful that he is so tolerant of Henry's courtship of his daughter and have told him so. He explained, "It isn't the boy's fault that his aunt is a firebrand. Besides, this war will be over and forgotten long before he or my daughter leave high school. Hopefully, by then, Grace will be back with her husband where she belongs."

Speaking of relatives, or at least wards, with minds of their own, Maisie is determined to subject the family to yet another culinary horror. She promises-perhaps I should say threatens-to make fruitcake for Christmas. I can feel every inch of my stomach and most of my intestines cringing at the awful prospect.

It's almost enough to make me nostalgic for the hardtack and salt pork John and I used to eat on the trail. At least the recipe she is using doesn't require alcohol. Her father's sobriety will be safe although his digestive tract will still be in mortal peril.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry December 17, 1937

… I spoke to Chao-xing Yuen at the gazebo while watching her son Billy playing with my nephew Zack. She is very proud of her little boy. Billy is almost four and loves reading, especially Mickey Mouse Magazine.

… Chao-xing and Mr. Yuen are very anxious about his father in Nanking. The news from there of wholesale rape and butchery of Chinese civilians by the Imperial Japanese Army is horrific. The Yuens are thankful that Chao-Xing's parents live in a small town near Chungking which is far inland from the Japanese advance. I will pray tonight for Mr. Yuen's father and for all the other poor souls at the mercy of an enemy whose armed forces seem to consist entirely of rapists, murderers, and accomplices. If anyone ever needed help from God, they do.

… Laura and her mother were waiting for me in one of the back pews of St. Matthew's as Toppy told me they would be. Apparently, Mrs. Bridgeman really did want me to speak to her daughter. Fr. Fitzroy was discreetly absent. Laura all but threw herself into my arms. After a hug and greetings, she wasted no time explaining to me how awful the previous months had been and how unfair her father was being.

The nuns do sound a little rough, but not much more than teachers in public school who use the strap. Of course, I don't believe in the strap. I've always admired Max for taking a stand against it even if he couldn't persuade the school board to do away with the policy. I'm not surprised that Laura still agrees with me about fascism and especially about Franco. People can be persuaded to change their views, but they can't be forced.

I tried to persuade Laura to go easier on her father. He may be stubborn and wrongheaded, but he is only trying to do what he thinks best for her. Laura called him a monster and wished that she never had to speak to him again. I could feel an old and deep grief waking inside me. I reminded her that I was only a little younger than she was when my father died and that I would give anything to be able to speak to him just one more time. She seemed to understand a little what I was trying to tell her.

She didn't protest when I explained that it is perfectly normal for parents and children to disagree. If I counted on my fingers all the times I've disagreed with Mother over the years, I'd need at least four dozen extra pairs of hands. She hasn't always been fair to me, but she does love me just as Laura's father loves her. I've found that it helps to be patient with her even and perhaps especially when she makes me so angry I want to scream.

Perhaps Laura could do the same with her father. It's a lot better than going around being unhappy all the time. Laura supposed that she could at least give my advice a try. I just hope that Mr. Bridgeman is receptive if she does. There may not be any peace between warring powers in this year of Our Lord, but there should be peace between family members who love each other.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton December 20, 1937

Wonderful news. Joe is coming to New Bedford for Christmas. I am glad that his fighters have been mostly successful since their training camp on Bas Lake ended, but I have missed him very much. I wish my brother were more of a letter writer. It was unfair that Grace learned about his new girlfriend Julie before I did even if she did have the advantage of seeing him in person when she visited Toronto last fall.

… Grace is beginning to mope and fret as she always does when she hasn't gotten a letter from Van for a long time. It doesn't help that the Spanish republic launched a new offensive five days ago against a small provincial city called Teruel. Both Grace's sources in Toronto and her brother-in-law's in New York agree that the Republic's pointed claims that only regular army units are being used and that the International Brigades are being kept out of the action are true.

So, apparently, are the reports of tension between the Republican government and the International Brigades' Communist organizers. Grace still worries that something will go wrong with the offensive and Van and his comrades will be sent into the breach. Max and I have tried to assure her that the news stories of surprise and success in the attack on Teruel must be accurate, but I don't think I gave her much comfort. I'm afraid that she has heard too many similar claims that turned out to be premature.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

As Christmas Eve approached, I had heard nothing from Van since he wrote to me in late November. Harry mentioned him in a letter from the first week in December, but after that there was no further news. Anxiety tormented me a little more with each day that passed without a letter from Van.

Had the battalion been thrown into action in spite of the Republic's claims and promises? Had there been an accident? Had Van simply stopped writing out of a misguided idea that I would be better off not waiting for him? Over three weeks passed and still nothing. There was always a sympathetic word or a small act of kindness from one or another of my friends and family to let me know that I didn't have to shoulder my troubles alone. Nonetheless, by Christmas Eve I was absolutely miserable with dread.

Next Week: A memorable Christmas Eve. War across the world. Nerves wearing down.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey - cont.

Mother, Maisie and I were taking a moment to sit in the parlor and catch our breath before it was time to start Christmas dinner. Maisie was reading yet another book loaned to her from Dr. Barlow's medical library. We were all enjoying restorative cups of hot cider, at least Maisie and Mother were. I was so caught up in my worries about Van that I had hardly touched mine. I couldn't answer when Mother asked me if there was anything wrong for fear of bursting into tears. Mother took one close look at me and asked Maisie to fetch an object from under the tree, a tube wrapped in multicolored paper.

"I think Grace should have this tonight and not tomorrow," she concluded. "It came yesterday from Van. I wrapped it according to his instructions. He wanted to surprise you on Christmas morning."

At Mother's urging, I tore open the wrapping to reveal a stiff cardboard butcher paper tube. The ends were plugged with pages of Our Fight and taped shut with masking tape. Inside was a letter and a finely crafted pencil sketch signed Richard L. . The sketch was of the night sky over a scrubby hill. In that sky was a delicate waning moon surrounded by a glorious wash of stars. A year of accumulated worry and anguish eased its grip on my heart. I read Van's letter, my eyes moistening as I did so.

It read, "I hope you like the drawing. It was done by a new recruit, Richard Ladner, who came to us from the Ontario College of Art and Design. … If I could keep my promise to you of the moon and all the stars, maybe the future can keep its promise of a life for us together. I'm sorry if I frightened you by fearing otherwise. I can sustain hope, whatever may come, by cherishing our love for each other. That love is a precious thing and I will never let it go. Perhaps this time next year we will be together for good. I will write you after the battalion moves to its new temporary home. Merry Christmas. Van."

Holding that lovely sketch in my hands and Van's lovelier words in my heart, I felt a profound joy. For that blessed single moment, I was certain that Van would come back to me. His touch would no longer be a thing of memory. The war would be over and a new life, radiant with hope and promise, would unfold before us.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan December 26, 1937

… This year's Christmas Eve supper was one of the happiest that I can remember. Van's present and letter and the obvious joy they brought to Grace raised everyone's spirits. We all agreed to her suggestion that Hub should say the prayer again. Especially when Violet chimed in that if he was going to be a priest, he should get as much practice as he can. The prayer was deeply touching. I think all of us were in full and fervent agreement with Hub's plea that this coming year would see the end of the war in Spain and the safe return home of Van, Harry, Oscar, Richard Ladner and all their comrades including the ones in Grace's pen pal arrangement.

Hub also expressed his hope that the war would end in mercy and forgiveness between enemies no matter who won. I suppose there's no harm in praying for a miracle on Christmas. … Honey's brother was a welcome guest. His niece and nephews listened with rapt attention to his stories of the boxing world. Honey teased him about his new lady friend. Her name is Julie and, from the way he talks about her, he seems very taken with her.

… Wonder of wonders, Maisie's fruitcake was not the inedible block of granite that the entire family feared it would be. In fact, it was a sweet, chewy, tangy delight. Eddie Jackson was beaming with pride at his daughter's accomplishment.

… I have saved what I hope is the best news for last. Jerry Belham proposed to Doris last night and she accepted. Toppy is happy and relieved that the boy's intentions towards Doris are honorable. Given his reputation as a ladykiller, we have all worried that he might have only been toying with her before moving on to his next dalliance. Grace urged optimism. "Maybe marriage will mature both of them. People can change for the better."

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry December 28, 1937

… I hope you and Mark and the children had a very happy Christmas. You'll find some of Maisie's fruitcake in the package that accompanies this letter. I swear I am not trying to repay your years of friendship by poisoning you and your family. Maisie has managed a triumph this time.

… The Yuens are relieved at the news that Mr. Yuen's father and his aunt and uncle are alive. They made it into the safe zone the remaining foreign nationals in Nanking negotiated to protect at least some of that city's people from the continuing massacre being carried out there by the Imperial Japanese Army. The Yuens' relief is tempered by reports of violations of the safety zone, but those same reports make it clear that those within are still safer than those outside.

I can't imagine the kind of courage it must have taken the men and women responsible for the Nanking Safety Zone to stay in Nanking and beg rabid animals for the lives of its people. That one of the men was a Nazi Party member is beyond belief. There may be hope for the human race yet.

My own attempts at doing good are insignificant by comparison. They aren't even impressive in terms of New Bedford. The four New Bedford teens who lost pen pals in the Abraham Lincoln Battalion and then came to me asking if they could write to anyone else in the battalion who still needed a pen pal are better and braver people than I'll ever be.

At least my advice to Laura hasn't had unintended bad consequences or caused trouble for people I care for. Mrs. Bridgeman actually came up to me today and thanked me for it. Apparently, Laura has been nicer to her father although neither of them will yield an inch of their convictions.

According to Mrs. Bridgeman, her family actually had a pleasant Christmas. They must have. Mr. Bridgeman was almost civil to me at today's board meeting. We should even be able to get Laura a look at the sketch Van sent me now that Mr. Hamlin, New Bedford's hardware store proprietor and jack-of-all-trades, has finished framing it. She has an appointment at Honey's beauty parlor tomorrow and it will happen to be hanging on the wall. …

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring December 28, 1937

… I hope by now that you have my Christmas present. I certainly appreciate yours. I have never experienced a winter this cold in my entire life and New York in winter can make the inside of an icebox feel like the beach at Waikiki at the height of summer. Even the Canadians here admit that they are starting to feel like Sam McGee in Robert Service's poem.

The overcoat, gloves, scarf, long woolen underwear, boots, and pairs of woolen socks are exactly what the doctor ordered. Thank Max for advising you to send them. I'm lucky to have a wife smart enough to ask an ex-soldier what to get for her soldier husband.

When I return from this war, I will take you to Waikiki. There we will forget the world and its troubles and think only of each other for a while. The Army of the Republic seems to be handling its offensive against Teruel fairly well with no help from us Internationals. Perhaps, the government will decide that we are no longer needed, and we will be able to go home. Perhaps you and I have sunny days ahead of us yet.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

On December 29, 1937, the fascists, on the orders of Generalissimo Franco, counterattacked through snow, ice, and sub-zero temperatures against the Republican forces besieging Teruel. They were supported by German planes and artillery made in whole or in part from nickel supplied by Canada's International Nickel or Inco. Their transport from Ford and General Motors ran on Firestone tires and was fueled by gasoline purchased on credit from Texaco and its Nazi sympathizing president, Thorkild Rieber.

The Republic held its lines around Teruel with a less generous and constant stream of weapons and equipment manufactured in the factories of Catalonia or smuggled from Russia through the nonintervention blockade. Those lines buckled but held. However, more assaults would soon follow.

On December 31, the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion was transported to the village of Argente a little less than 26 miles from Teruel. There, they waited in reserve. During the next two weeks, the fascists bombed, shelled, and assaulted the Republican lines again and again.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton New Year's Day, 1938

As I begin the new year, I have many blessings to be thankful for. My beauty shop is thriving. My correspondence courses continue to be engaging and enlightening. Above all, I have my husband and children here with me and safe. When I think of how many other women's husbands and children are at war as I write, I pray for peace. May God give our leaders the wisdom to continue to keep us out of Europe's quarrels and conflicts.

… Max continues to rework his play. I wish that the thing weren't so frustrating for him. He keeps throwing page after page into the wastebasket. My heart went out to him when he lamented that writing a straight realistic drama isn't the same as writing a mystery or thriller play. In a mystery someone is murdered, and the detective spends the rest of the play trying to figure out whodunit. In a thriller, there is something the villains want, and the hero or heroes try to keep them from getting it. Real life doesn't fit into acts and climaxes quite so neatly.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry January 1, 1938

Maisie and I paid visits to Roolie, the Schmitzes, and the Lanes to wish them all a happy new year. Roolie's son was paying a visit to his mother and trying yet again to persuade her to come and live with him in Pinebury. As usual she refuses to budge from her little shack in the hills. She claims to be content. "There is peace here, and wildness. It isn't the road, but it isn't a town either. Towns weren't made for the Roma."

Maisie was curious. "What's wrong with towns?"

"Everyone in them either owns or wants land," Roolie explained. "People fight each other over who should own land or how they should behave on it. On the road, we Roma own no land and when was the last time we declared war on anyone?"

… Maisie and I prayed with the Schmitzes for their son and my husband. Ida led the prayer, calling on God to deliver our loved ones from peril of body and soul as He delivered Daniel from the lion's den and Moses and the Israelites from Pharoah. Think of it, four Christians praying for an atheist and an agnostic. Before this war, it would never have occurred to me that such a thing might happen. Now it seems like the most natural thing in the world.

… The Lanes are overjoyed to have Will with them. They are proud of the start he is making in his new job as night watchman at the mine office. Old Ryan will be retiring soon and is happy to have a protégé to take his place when that day comes. Will is looking forward to going to Toronto next week to be fitted with his new prosthetic. If he is as successful with it as he has been in learning to use his left hand for everything, then there will be few limits to what he can do with it.

… As Maisie and I walked through the outskirts of New Bedford on our way home, Laura Bridgeman came up to us wearing a look of disappointment. We soon found out why. "I did what you told me. It didn't work. I'm still going back to St. Martha's this semester."

I explained to her that I never said that being nicer to her father would make him change his mind about where to send her to school, only that it might make it easier for the two of them to live with each other. She reluctantly admitted that it has done that. Then she asked after Hub. Of course, he still misses her. Maisie added that he was always talking about her.

I don't think Laura noticed the reluctance with which she did so. It was subtle, but I've been living with Maisie for a year. In that time, I've come to know her well enough to notice things like that. It's starting to become clear why Maisie is spending so much time with Hub and is suddenly eager to attend Sunday mass at St. Matthews in spite of the glares she gets from some of the parishioners for helping me with my work for the Spanish Republic. Laura thanked me for letting her see Richard Ladner's sketch of the moon and all the stars. She wishes she could draw landscapes half as well.

… Before she left us, Laura had a gift for me. It was a sketch of the seven deadly sins which she drew at St. Martha's and didn't show the nuns. Whatever her shortcomings as a landscape artist, she has a real talent for caricature.

Adolf Hitler was represented as Anger, Mussolini was Envy, and Franco was Pride. I almost fell over into the snow laughing at the caricature of Mackenzie King as Sloth. It was our prime minister to the indecisive life. Please, keep what I've said about Maisie's feelings and Laura's sketch to yourself. It probably wouldn't get back to New Bedford if you talked about it, but it would cause pain and trouble if it did.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

As the new year came in, the slow and agonizing disintegration of the Spanish Republic began. At first, the Republican Army at Teruel repelled counterattack after counterattack from the fascists. I took some comfort in these successes and hoped that the strength of the Republican positions and the awful weather faced by the attackers would enable them to hold on. When the last fascist defenders of Teruel surrendered on January 8, I dared to hope that this might be a battle the Republic could win. Six days later, the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion moved into the lines outside Teruel to join the rest of the recently arrived International Brigades.

Their section lay across three icy, barren hills above a flat, open valley. They dug trenches into the chalk that lay just under the surface, placed their machine guns, and waited for the fascists to come. They didn't have to wait long. The fascists brought artillery into place and opened a murderous barrage at the Mac-Paps supported by constant bombardment from the air. Then, they charged across the valley again and again into a storm of rifle. machine gun, and anti-tank gun fire. After each charge, their path was a long smear of corpses, shattered tanks, and bloody snow. The fascist infantry stopped to regroup, but the bombing and shelling of the Mac-Paps' line was unrelenting.

Since Christmas, I had tried to hold on to my feeling that Van was certain to come back to me. However, the knowledge that the bloodbath at Teruel had already lasted longer than Brunete and continued to rage with no end in sight wore at me. Seeing in the papers that Van and his comrades were now in the thick of it and had been for days shook my already faltering confidence in our eventual reunion.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton January 24, 1938

Grace came to us tonight after supper, dazed and upset. She seemed a little surprised to find herself in our apartment. I asked her what brought her here. She explained. "I had to tell Phyllis Fraser that the pen pal she's been writing to since last summer was killed a week ago at Teruel."

Max and I just looked at her in disbelief.

Grace continued. "That's two she's lost. The poor child couldn't stop crying. I took a walk to clear my head afterwards. The next thing I knew I was here."

She looked around. "Where are the children?"

Max explained that since our radio was being repaired, they had gone down the corridor to Jim Flett's room in the New Bedford Inn to listen to Fred Allen with him and Pritchard. Then he offered Grace our sympathies on her ordeal. She looked at him with tired, despairing eyes. "I feel like the angel of death."

The misery in Grace's voice wrung my heart. After Max assured her that this war wasn't her fault and that she was just doing the best she could for the poor devils who have to fight in it, I asked her to sit down and offered to make her some hot cocoa. She had to be freezing after walking all the way here from the Fraser home. She sat and accepted my offer. When I returned from the kitchen, she was speaking to Max. "This is the sixth time Van has been in combat. How many soldiers fight that many times and live?"

Max tried to comfort her as I handed her the steaming cocoa. "I was in combat more than that and here I am. By now your husband knows everything there is to know about surviving a war. He won't do anything stupid that will get him killed."

"Does that matter when the other side gets all the planes and artillery it needs, and his side only gets what the Soviet Union can slip through the nonintervention cordon?"

Max put a gentle hand on Grace's shoulder. "There are ways for soldiers to protect themselves against bombs and artillery. Trenches can be zigzagged and reinforced. Dugouts can be built. I'm sure Van and his comrades are doing all these things. Have faith."

Grace looked up at Max. Her expression was still anxious. "I try, but I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this. There's always another battle and another after that. It never ends."

Tears came. I took her in my arms. Max and I told her it really would be alright. After a short time, she calmed down, and let Max call Mr. Cramp to ask if he could come down from his and Mrs. Cramp's apartment in another part of the New Bedford Inn and drive her home.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan February 7, 1938

… Grace returned from the mailbox walking like a condemned woman toward the gallows. When she looked at me there was a terror in her eyes to chill the hardiest soul. Her latest letter to Van had been returned. There was a postmark on the envelope from the International Brigades Hospital at Benicassim. Across it was stamped one word, "wounded."

Next Week: A wounded husband. A bargaining newspaper publisher. An insensitive niece. News

at last.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry February 9, 1938

There has been no further word of Van. I have written to the International Brigades Hospital at Benicassim hoping to find out more. As I walk down the streets of New Bedford to and from work, I see people drive to appointments, shop for groceries, and shovel snow to clear the sidewalks in front of their businesses. At the mine office I type Mother's dictation and help her keep her appointments straight. At CRNB I read my copy over the air. At home I type a column on how to put life into leftovers.

It seems almost obscene for me or anyone to follow a routine, to carry out the thousand little actions that mesh into a pattern of daily life as though the man I love doesn't matter. I want to scream at the world that he matters to me. The only good thing I can say is that as the shock of the bad news is starting to wear off, my mind is starting to focus itself. I know what I have to do. If there is no official word of Van in the next day or so, I will see what I can learn from unofficial sources. …

From the Journal of Honey Sutton February 9, 1938

Toppy and Archie had Max and I over for supper tonight. … The conversation turned to Max's play. The Attenboroughs had heard from Grace that Max had finished his second draft of Miner's Son. Toppy wondered if he might want to have the New Bedford Dramatic Society put it on.

"Maybe," Max replied. "In the future. If I can work out some of the problems it still has."

Toppy was thoughtful. "If I didn't have a deadline for my new book in two weeks, I'd suggest letting me have a look at it like I did the first draft. Perhaps someone else could do it."

A light came into Max's eyes. "What about Grace? Her suggestions were very helpful when I was writing serials for CRNB. It might even be good for her to have a distraction with everything she's going through."

Archie raised an eyebrow. "You really think four acts of drunken rages, wife and child beating, and the Great War will cheer her up?"

"It might," Toppy chimed in. "Speaking as a reader and an author, there's nothing like the troubles of fictional people to take your mind off your own."

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

… During those days when I didn't know if my darling Van was alive or dead, there was a small silver lining in the form of sympathy from unexpected quarters. After the weekly board meeting, Mr. Bridgeman actually had the decency to express his hope that Van's wounds weren't serious and that he would soon recover. Mr. Cramp spoke to me after I turned in my latest column. His face wore a look of both embarrassment and concern. "I know I've said some hard things about your husband's cause and your efforts to help him in the past year, but that was only a difference of opinion. I hope you understand that I never wanted him to come to harm."

I assured him that I did. He put his hand on mine and squeezed it gently. "If there's anything Callie and I can do for you and your husband, you only have to ask."

It was probably terrible of me to take advantage of one of Mr. Cramp's rare moments of generosity the way I did, but what I asked really was a help to my husband, or at least his comrades. Besides, I was still a little irked at how he and Mrs. Cramp had bamboozled me into writing the homemaking column for the paper. Never mind that I had actually come to enjoy the work. "There is one thing."

Mr. Cramp looked at me eagerly. I didn't keep him in suspense for long. "The Friends of the

Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion are planning a new fundraising campaign for the Rehabilitation Fund. I'm sure that you wouldn't mind letting us advertise in the Chronicle for free so that we can contribute the money saved to the fund."

The look of abject horror on Mr. Cramp's face at the sound of the word free was very satisfying. "Do you know what a quarter page of advertising costs these days."

I quoted him the going rate minus the pittance of a discount I had managed to negotiate with him for the last fundraising campaign I had run. I could have dickered with him some more, but then I thought of all the Canadian wounded lying in that hospital with Van. They had fought for their country as surely as any veteran of the Great War, but they would come home to a government that could be relied on to give them no care for their wounds or any help in building new lives. Suddenly, there were more important things at stake than my desire to get my own back.

I explained to Mr. Cramp exactly how much artificial limbs and treatment by a doctor would cost for just one veteran. Every penny I could save on fundraising expenses would be needed. Surely, he could give up a little profit for a short time for the sake of wounded soldiers like the ones he knew in the Great War. To his credit, he listened thoughtfully and understood what I was saying even if the very idea of giving away ad space aggravated his stomach trouble.

"All right," he grumbled doing his best not to let me see that there might actually be a tender spot or two in his heart of stone. "How about one free ad and the rest at a 50% discount?"

I didn't reply. Mr. Cramp understood why immediately. He put his hand up. "Please, stop calculating. I don't need to know how much medical care I'd be depriving the poor veterans of." He gave a sigh of resignation. "If Callie finds out, she'll never let me hear the end of this, but one ad free and a 60% discount on the rest."

I admit I was shocked and delighted. That was a much better deal than I expected to get. I leaned over and gave him a swift kiss on the cheek. "You're a nice man, Mr. Cramp."

I could swear he actually blushed, but the light in the corner of the newsroom where we were standing was very dim. I probably imagined it. He was a little startled though. "Don't go overboard Grace."

"I'm not. You really are a nice man."

"I'll deny it if you tell anyone, especially Callie." He grinned wickedly. "I don't want her to think I married her under false pretenses."

I stifled a burst of laughter. "We can't have that. I promise, my lips are sealed."

That lighthearted moment was short lived, but much appreciated. In those tense days, such moments were a much-needed relief from my troubles.

Next Week: An insensitive niece. News at last


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Robert Bailey to May Bailey February 13, 1938

… It's been a week since Grace learned that her husband has been wounded and she has yet to hear anything more about him. The only good news is that her contact at the Star got her in to see J.E. Atkinson, the managing editor himself. Atkinson listened sympathetically to her request that he have one of his correspondents at Teruel, Hugh Frampton, make inquiries after Van at the International Brigades' Hospital at Benicassim.

However, he also warned her that because of the fascists' artillery and air power, the doctors and nurses there are dealing with a flood of casualties. It may have taken awhile for anyone to write her the details of Van's condition although hopefully someone has by now. Neither the Schmitzes nor the Saarinens have heard anything from their sons. We can only hope that they are safe. It's no wonder that Grace was so subdued during dinner last night. The only thing that cheered her up even a little was talking with Diana about the approaching birth of our baby

Doris didn't make things any better with her behavior. It was bad enough that she showed only perfunctory sympathy for her aunt's fears for her husband's life. She carried on all through dinner about how difficult the wedding preparations are and how inconsiderate it was of Jerry to not be with us because he had to work late. I couldn't help thinking, a little callously as it turned out, that she would rather have been out on the town dancing and downing cocktails with him than entertaining her "nutty aunt." It was even worse when she remarked of her fiance that, "at least he has enough sense not to go off and fight in some silly foreign war."

I'm not ashamed to say that I flinched at the glare Grace turned on Doris. If looks could kill, we would be planning Doris' funeral now instead of her wedding. Grace's reply was coldly furious. "I hope he has enough sense to realize that if the fascists win in Spain, he will be going off to fight in a foreign war and there won't be anything silly about it."

You would think that Doris would have realized at that point how insensitive she was being. Instead she laughed. "You and Father worry too much. Too many important people are determined to keep us out of another war in Europe. Even if there is one and conscription comes in, Jerry's family owns one of the biggest shipping companies on the Great Lakes and he works for them. They'll use their influence to get him a position in the Department of Transportation."

"Of course, they will," Grace admitted angrily. "He won't ever find himself fighting on a battlefield or lying wounded in a military hospital or maybe even … ."

Looking at the fear and misery on my sister's face as she tried unsuccessfully to choke back tears, I was deeply ashamed of Doris. I will say this for her. Seeing her aunt dabbing at her eyes with my handkerchief, it finally dawned on her that she might be behaving badly. She managed to force out a halting apology. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean … ."

I like to think I'm getting better at holding my temper, but every now and then I slip. "Of course, you didn't," I snapped. "You have to think first in order to mean anything and you haven't been doing much of that tonight, especially about your aunt's feelings."

Doris began her apology again. It was sincerely meant. Grace accepted it with an admirable display of the virtue for which you and father named her. It is typical of her forgiving nature that the next night, she came to me and asked me not to stay peeved at Doris for her behavior at dinner. She probably would have done so even if Doris hadn't spoken with her after church.

Apparently, an acquaintance had mentioned to her earlier that she had heard that Jerry had been working late a lot recently. Then the vicious cat asked if he had a cute secretary, probably knowing full well that he does. Grace was sure that I could understand why Doris was upset and preoccupied when Jerry had to work late again that very night.

There was just enough of an edge to that last statement to make me wince inwardly at the guilty memories of my own past infidelity. I brushed aside my discomfort to ask if there were anything to the rumors about Jerry. Grace assured me that there wasn't. To anyone who hasn't been her brother for thirty-six years, she would have sounded pretty convincing. However, I know how her voice gets just a shade too bright when she is trying to persuade you that everything couldn't be better, but isn't entirely sure of it herself.

I can't help feeling that there was more said between her and her niece than she was willing to tell me. Nonetheless, I later apologized to Doris for being so harsh towards her the previous night. I hope that I persuaded her that she can talk to me if anything is troubling her. I also intend to have a talk with Jerry about his responsibilities to my daughter. Expecting someone to behave better than you once did isn't hypocritical if you've learned your lesson.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

The last thing I did before I left Toronto was to visit Richard Ladner's parents, Elliot and Barbara Ladner. They were polite, but not enthusiastic. Elliot was an accountant at the Hudson Bay Company's Toronto office. It was unsettling enough for him and his wife that their son wanted to be an artist, but neither of them really believed that he should be risking his life in Spain. Elliot was very clear. "My son always was too idealistic for his own good. I don't blame him for wanting to help innocent people at the mercy of a cold-blooded butcher, but he should have used his talent to publicize the cause and raise money. He didn't have to join up and fight."

"No, he didn't," I agreed. "That's why you and your wife should be very proud of him as I am of my husband."

"We are," said Barbara with tears welling up in her eyes. "He was always a good boy."

This seemed like the appropriate time to bring up one of the reasons for my visit. "He did a wonderful thing for my husband and me." I indicated the rectangular object at my feet wrapped in twine and butcher paper that I had described as a surprise when I had first brought it in. "Let me show you something."

I untied the twine and unwrapped the butcher paper to reveal their son's framed drawing of the moon and all the stars. They listened as I explained how I came by it. By the time I finished expressing my gratitude to their son, Elliot's formality had softened into something resembling warmth. They thanked me for showing them such a lovely example of his work. I wish I could have let them keep it, but I just couldn't bear to give it up. That sketch was as much a part of Van to me as it was a part of their son to them. …

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan February 14, 1938

… The Schmitzes heard from Harry today. He and Oscar Saarinen are suffering from ungodly cold along with the rest of the battalion but are otherwise unhurt. … There is no news of Gottfried Schmitz. All Harry knows is that the Thaelmanns suffered heavy casualties in a brutal fight somewhere before Teruel. The details were censored. … Harry's letter had news of Van. It isn't good. Sometime before the end of January, Van suffered a shrapnel wound to the head during an artillery barrage. Two of the men alongside him were killed outright by the same burst. Harry isn't certain how severe the wound was, only that there was a great deal of blood and Van wasn't conscious afterwards. Battalion Commissar Saul Wellman carried him out of the lines. The last Wellman saw of him, he was being evacuated on a stretcher. I am not looking forward to breaking this news to Grace when she arrives in New Bedford tomorrow morning.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton February 15, 1938

Max and I were at the station with May to offer moral support and whatever comfort we could when she met Grace with the bad news from Harry's letter. Maisie wanted to be with us, but May refused to let her take time off from school. It never occurred to any of us that Grace might have bad news of her own to deliver. We were all surprised when she rushed up to Max, her suitcase and carefully wrapped sketch in her arms. The look she gave him was one of pure misery. "I'm so sorry, Max. I can't believe I could have been so stupid."

Max asked her what was wrong.

The words poured out of her in a wave of guilt and shame. "Your manuscript! Miner's Son! I lost it at the station in Toronto."

Max was thunderstruck. "How?"

"I put Richard Ladner's sketch over it when I sat down on the bench to wait for my train. I was so distracted with trying to think of some new way of finding news of Van. When my train was announced, I just picked up my suitcase and the sketch without looking and ran. I must have left the manuscript behind. I didn't realize what I had done until the train was already out of the station. I called from the next stop. The people at the station looked, but the manuscript was gone from the bench. I don't know where it is. I'm sorry."

I had to admire Max for his restraint. I knew how much worry and hard work had gone into the second draft of Miner's Son. It must have been agony to lose the only copy. It hardly showed. There was just a hint of frustration in his eyes and a slight stiffness in his stance. Only a wife with considerable experience of her husband's moods would have spotted it. When he looked down at Grace after a moment, it was with sympathy and understanding. "It doesn't matter. I can write another draft. This one needed reworking anyway."

Grace shook her head. "I just wish I'd paid more attention."

Max smiled at her. "You have a lot on your mind these days. I understand."

Grace gave Max a look of gratitude. "Thank you, Max. I can't tell you how much I appreciate that. I've been half crazy with worry all the way up here. At least the rest of the day has to be better."

Next Week: Grace's fears. More news of Van.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

Dr. Barlow listened gravely as I recounted what I knew about Van's wound. He warned me that he couldn't diagnose a patient he hasn't seen. "We don't know how much damage was done. All I can say is that the fact that he made it all the way to Benicassim may be an encouraging sign."

I was afraid that the hope I held might turn to bleak disappointment, but I couldn't abandon it. "Is there any chance he'll recover?"

"I don't know. However, I have seen patients with head injuries that I thought for certain would kill or incapacitate them make full recoveries. I hope that's the case here. All I can say is don't give up on him."

Shame and regret rose in me like a swift tide as I thought of the desolate look on Van's face when he left to join the International Brigades after my betrayal of him. "I gave up on Van once, Dr. Barlow. Never again."

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan February 18, 1938

… It was thoughtful of Maisie to go through Dr. Barlow's medical journals for cases of successful recoveries from head injuries or traumatic brain injuries as the medical profession calls them. Grace needs the encouragement after the report she received two days ago. That Van was in a coma, even briefly is alarming. So are the symptoms he has been experiencing-temporary amnesia, blurred vision, headaches, dizziness, nausea, and strong sensitivity to light and sound.

Pearl Disher's false sympathy for Grace when she buttonholed us as we exited the New Bedford Inn Tearoom today didn't help. She went on and on in gruesome detail about her cousin's symptoms when he tripped on the sidewalk while running to watch a fire and hit his head on a lamppost. Of course, he was never the same afterwards, but she was sure that the effects of Van's wound weren't anywhere near that bad.

I do have to give Grace credit. Her face was pale as marble and every muscle was tense with anxiety, but she refused to let her emotions overwhelm her as Pearl no doubt hoped they would. Instead, she curtly agreed that Van's symptoms probably weren't anywhere near as bad as those of Pearl's unfortunate cousin and thanked her for her concern. I would have asked her if there wasn't some carrion somewhere that she should be circling, but Grace has always been a nicer person than I am.

We walked outside and down the sidewalk. Just before we reached CRNB, Grace stopped and turned around. She looked at me like a child who couldn't understand how the world could be so cruel. She spoke to me in a small, subdued voice. "I'm frightened, Mother."

Seeing Grace in such distress wrung my heart. I wanted to put a hand on her shoulder as I might have had we been in the privacy of our home, but we were on a public sidewalk. Instead, I reminded her of how frightened we both were when Bob was so badly wounded at Passchendaele. He still came home on medical leave and recovered enough to marry Toppy and return to his regiment. I dried the tears that welled up in Grace's eyes with my handkerchief and told her that I was sure that Van would come back to her. God grant that I wasn't giving her false hope.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton February 25, 1938

I have been nerving myself up to speak to Grace ever since the news came that Van is being given a medical discharge from the International Brigades and will be coming home as soon as his wounds heal enough to make that possible. As a new member of the sisterhood of the wives of ex-soldiers, there are things she needs to know to expect. Fortunately, she broached the subject herself today. We had lunch in the apartment, so we were able to talk alone.

After a little chit chat, Grace mentioned that when her brother Jack came home from the war, his room was next to hers and the wall separating them was thin. "I could hear him tossing and screaming when he had nightmares. The second time it happened I went into his room and asked him what was wrong. He told me that I shouldn't worry, that it was something he had to get through on his own. The next day, he moved into the guest room where I couldn't hear him. That night, I listened outside the door and heard more nightmares. I told Mother. Jack wouldn't talk to her about it either. Was he any better after you were married?"

I was pretty sure that I saw what Grace was getting at. "Is this a roundabout way of asking what to expect when Van comes home?"

Grace looked at me anxiously. "Yes. I know that after a year of war, he won't be the same person he was when he left for Spain. I'm not the person I was when he left. I was hurting then from what he did to me. I'm sure he was hurting from what I did to him, but we knew that we loved each other. Will our love still be the same or will it have changed like we have?"

I smiled. "Love always changes. Sometimes it fades, but, if it's true, it only deepens like it did between your brother and me. Like it does between me and Max. I think that's the kind of love you and Van have."

"I hope so. I hope what we have isn't something that looks good in a letter but can't survive face to face. Van and I have been apart for so long. I just hope we can find each other again."

"I'm sure you will. You'll have adjustments and compromises to make, but you and Van have already made some big ones. I'm not worried."

Grace looked at me thoughtfully. "Speaking of adjustments, were my brother's nightmares any better when you married him?"

"I don't know if they were as bad as when he first came home. I wasn't there. They were still pretty bad. He had them two or three times a week. It took months before he started having fewer of them."

"When did they stop?"

"They didn't. He was down to one or two a month by the time we came to New Bedford." I knew I shouldn't have said what I did next as soon as I said it, but I couldn't stop myself. The subject was just too sensitive. "So was Max before he got involved with your war effort. Now he has nightmares once, sometimes twice, a week, especially after he talks with Will Lane."

Grace looked stricken. "I'm sorry. I should have thought … ."

I held up my hand. "No, I'm sorry. You've had a lot on your mind and I'm not being fair. You once told me that Max is an adult making his own decisions. You were right. What he did for the Republic and for Will Lane was his responsibility and not yours. It's just frightening to see your husband wake up screaming in the night and to feel him shaking in your arms."

The look Grace wore was bleak. "I suppose it is. Maybe risking that was Max's decision but risking it with him wasn't yours. I'm sorry."

I couldn't help but smile. "I agreed to share everything with Max including risks the moment I said 'I do'. Max agreed to do the same for me and he has, especially when I was in the sanatorium and he looked after the kids. That's what marriage is all about."

Grace responded with a weak smile. "I hope Van and I can be like that someday. It's what we were building towards at first, but then we almost destroyed our marriage between us and he's been away at war for over a year. …"

Grace let the sentence trail off. I tried to reassure her that she and Van would be fine. I was sure of it. I think I cheered Grace up a little, but she's had so many disappointments in her life. She always hopes for the best, but sometimes it isn't easy for her to believe that it will happen.

… Max, the children, and I were eating supper when we were interrupted by a frantic hammering on the door. It was Grace carrying a familiar sheaf of paper, Max's second draft of Miner's Son. A sales representative for a furniture factory had picked it up at Union Station but hadn't been able to get back there to inquire about it until a week later. Grace had mentioned her name and the town where she lived when she had called the station trying to find the manuscript. That was enough information for the sales representative to track down her address and mail the manuscript to her. Max was overjoyed. He gave Grace a disbelieving smile and thanked her. "It's amazing how sometimes something you thought was lost comes back to you."

In Two Weeks: Hospital Days. Shopping at the Pawnshop.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring February 25, 1938

I am in Barcelona General now. I was sent north [censored]. I am having to dictate this letter to one of the nurses because my vision is still a little too blurry for me to write it myself. The news of the recapture of Teruel by the Fascists three days ago is very unwelcome. Some of my friends from the Mac-Paps and the Lincolns were brought into Benicassim a few days before that after assaults on a trio of fascist controlled hilltops. This wasn't at Teruel, but on another part of the front. Two of the assaults succeeded.

Tell Buck Mayhew, if he doesn't already know, that his pen pal Marco Diaz is here and sends his greetings. During the Fascist counterattacks after the hilltop assaults, Marco was wounded by shrapnel in the arm. Fortunately, the damage isn't great and is healing quickly. He'll be able to return to the battalion in a week. His bed is next to mine and we talk a great deal. I am impressed by how well his English has come along since I saw him last with the rest of the Lincolns outside Fuentes de Ebro.

He has taught me more of the Catalan that everyone speaks in his tiny village in the Sierra de Cadi. He is glad to hear that I will be going home tomorrow. He thinks often of his home and how he misses his parents and little brother and sister. He even misses his father's especially bad-tempered cabra-that's Catalan for billy goat-that used to butt him with its horns and knock him down the moment his back was turned.

About the trip home I mentioned, I have heard from Sarah Beauchene. She has been kind enough to arrange for me to travel to Paris and from there to Canada and you. Johnny Pike is still with her and her husband and making amazing progress. He is able to walk with the aid of a cane when only a few months ago the doctors weren't sure that he would ever be able to walk again. Now they think that the bullet only bruised his spine and he may yet walk under his own power.

Don't give up hope for a full recovery for me. At least the scent of your perfume on the two letters I've received from you since I came here shows that there is nothing wrong with my sense of smell. I wish the rest of your letters hadn't been left behind in the trenches at Teruel with my equipment and possessions. [All letters from Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring before this point are from Grace's carbon copies. Ed.]

From the Journal of Maisie McGinty February 26, 1938

I'm still not much for journal writing, but Mrs. Bailey gave me this one for Christmas, so I'll give it another try. Dad was at an estate sale at Northbridge yesterday, so Grace, Toppy, and I dropped in at the pawnshop to take a gander at the merchandise he brought back. Henry was already there picking up and then putting back various knick knacks, obviously looking for a gift for Rebecca. I couldn't resist picking up a cheap paperweight carved in the shape of a gargoyle with a slack jaw that made it look like a complete dope and suggesting that he buy it. Rebecca wouldn't be able to help thinking of him every time she looked at it. Of course, he didn't like the idea.

"Yeah … sure. Put glasses on it and it would look just like Pritchard."

"Maybe you ought to buy her that scarf over there. It's as green as you are with envy right now."

"That's enough Maisie," Grace admonished me firmly but gently from behind a rack of children's clothes. "Stop teasing the poor boy."

I went back to trying to calculate just how much profit the store was likely to make on the new stock. Grace went back to listening to Toppy gab about how thoughtful Archie is. Anything she cooks is jake with him. He'll say something nice about it no matter what it is. She wishes she could cook as well as Grace. Of course, Grace wasted no time assuring Toppy that she thinks her cooking is swell.

It isn't bad. I've tried it. However, it doesn't come close to some of the meals Grace whips up that make you grateful that you were born with a tongue and a stomach. I was lost for a while in sweet dreams of the yummy roast beef and vegetables she plans to cook for Sunday dinner tomorrow. When I turned my attention back to Grace and Toppy, they were still talking.

Toppy really perked up when Grace mentioned that Van had written back agreeing that she should look into the possibility of his buying the Alawanda Lumber Company. 

After his original plan to do so failed because he left for Spain, the owners tried to sell the company to a consortium of interested buyers. However, last year's slump forced the consortium members to abandon their expansion plans in favor of retrenchment. The Alawanda Lumber Company is currently keeping its head above water, but not much more. The word is that the owners would still be willing to sell for the right offer. Grace and Van could still run the Alawanda Lumber Company together.

Toppy wondered if such a purchase was wise with the slump still going on. Grace explained what she and Mrs. Bailey had worked out. Van could buy the company for less than he would have to pay if times were good. I didn't like what Grace had to say next. From the unhappy look on Toppy's face, she didn't either. "The economy may be slow now, but a fascist victory in Spain will almost certainly lead to a European war. If it does, Canada will become involved. War production will cause demand for lumber to skyrocket. The Alawanda Lumber Company will make a healthy profit. I'd rather make a healthy peacetime profit from the Depression ending, but I don't see that happening before war comes."

I'm sure a peacetime profit would be nothing to sneeze at, but a wartime profit would probably make Midas turn green with envy. Still, Van has just spent a year risking his life fighting the fascists. If anyone deserves to make a huge pile from another war against them, he does. I just wish Grace wasn't almost certainly right about another war coming.

…All of us looked up from what we were doing when Dad brought in three boxes of records, both single 78's and albums. Toppy plunged in eagerly, especially when she saw that the albums included a couple of complete operas. Grace and I started looking through the single 78's although we knew our chances of finding decent jazz were slim. As Dad once told Grace, she was one of the few people in New Bedford over the age of thirty who actually liked up-to-date jazz.

Apparently, that went for the rest of Northern Ontario as well. All the collections dad brought in were heavy on the sappy sweet bands that Archie would rather have listened to instead of Toppy's longhair stuff. You'd think Canada got enough syrup from maple trees without having more pour out of the horns and keyboards of hopeless squares. Instead, that sort of thing sells by the bushel. Then I realized that I might be able to have some fun with this sorry situation. It only took a moment to find what I needed.

'Hey, Grace," I called to her cheerfully. "I found some great discs for Van when he comes back. Take a look." I held up one after the other so Grace could see them clearly. "Here's some Russ Morgan, Guy Lombardo, Lawrence Welk." Grace gawped like a gooney bird. Then I found something guaranteed to horrify her even more, the musical equivalent of red-hot irons to the eardrums. "Look at this. Shep Fields and his Orchestra. Van'll love that rippling rhythm."

Grace raised an eyebrow, but there was a smile underneath it. "He'll divorce me for mental cruelty."

That was when Toppy chimed in. "I don't think Ontario divorce law recognizes mental cruelty."

"For people whose spouses inflict Shep Fields on them," Grace retorted, "it ought to. Anyway, we're trying to strengthen our marriage, not break it up."

That was something I've been wondering about for a while. I know that something bad happened between Grace and Van before he left for Spain that almost tore them apart for good. Grace told me that there were parts of Van's past that he wasn't proud of and didn't tell her about before they were married. She overreacted and so did Van to her overreaction.

Grace won't tell me what those terrible parts of Van's past were, only that he didn't two time her. She and May aren't telling me more because they think I'm a kid who has to be protected from the cruel world. They mean well, but I probably know more than either of them on that score. Cabbagetown was a rough neighborhood filled with shady customers when I was living there. Not to mention that Cabbagetown wives have never been shy about what they say over the washing. I can't believe I've filled so many pages already. Maybe there's something to this journal writing.

Next Week: The Spring of '38. A veteran rebuilds his life. Two brothers.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

The approach of spring was a time of plans for the future. I planned for a new life with my husband. Maisie studied to be a doctor. … My brother looked forward to approaching fatherhood. Mother took thought as to who her successor as president of the Silverdome Mining Company should be. … In Spain, the future of the Republic was very much in doubt. Van's comrades in the International Brigades and their allies in the regular army tried to regroup after the loss of Teruel. Franco and his fascist allies prepared to deal a potential death blow to the Republic.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry February 28, 1938

… Will Lane was getting off work at the mine just as I was arriving to work at the mine office. I felt sorry for him. Here I was as fresh as a daisy while he was stifling a yawn. It must be strange to get your sleep during the day when everybody else is up and working. I asked Will how things were going with his new job. He admitted that the long nights took some getting used to, but after all the battlefields he's been on, he kind of likes the peace and quiet. It's nice to be able to stand up and look at the stars without having to worry about being shot by a sniper. Will asked after Van. I assured him that Van was coming home soon and I was looking forward to seeing him again.

… I teased him by asking if that was Winnie Campbell I saw him talking with in front of Mr. Greeley's Grocery the other day. He admitted that it was but said that I shouldn't make too much of it. She just wanted to hear stories about Spain. He complained that girls are either repelled by his split hook or throw themselves at him because they think that he's some kind of war hero out of a service picture. Could I see him as Ralph Graves or William Haines? I had to admit that I couldn't. Jimmy Stewart maybe.

I miss the movies. Now that I'm working three jobs and serving as president of the Friends of the Mac-Paps, I don't go as much as I used to. Will complained that all he wanted was someone who could see him and care for him for who he is, an ordinary guy who wants a sweet, honest girl to share his life and build a family with. I encouraged him to keep looking. There are more sweet, honest girls than he thinks that want a sweet, honest guy for the same reason.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton March 1, 1938

I can hardly believe that my little boy will be going to university next fall. It seems like hardly any time has gone by since Hub was a tiny baby with powerful lungs. I can still hear him screaming to be fed while I was desperately trying to get some sleep so that I could help Jack in the hardware store the next morning. Still, he looked so beautiful when he finally settled down and lay in his crib, his tiny eyelids closed and his breathing soft and even.

I think that Fr. Fitzroy is right in recommending that Hub take courses at both the University of Toronto and St. Augustine's Seminary. He should have a taste of the life of a university student before he commits to studying for the priesthood full time. I am glad that Fr. Fitzroy's cousin-also Fr. Fitzroy-is a chaplain at the University of Toronto and will be available to offer spiritual guidance.

… I hate to see Max so troubled by Grace's suggestions about how to improve A Miner's Son. Grace would have to be blind not to realize that the hero's brother is based on Max's brother Del. However, I had no idea that when they were keeping company Del told Grace so much about his and Max's childhood. Apparently, she knows that unlike Max, Del refused to forgive their father when he tried to reconcile with his sons before the liver damage from his drinking finally killed him. He didn't even attend the funeral.

I have to agree with Max that Grace is right in thinking that this is the logical climax of A Miner's Son. However, she is also right in thinking that it wouldn't be fair to Del to dramatize something like that about him on a public stage, even if the name of the character is different. In the end, Max put the manuscript in a trunk to let it rest for a while. As he closed the lid, he told me, "Right now, I'm trying to be a mayor, a principal, and a teacher. Perhaps if I come back to A Miner's Son when I can devote more time to it, I can find a fresh approach."

Max went silent and stared out the window into the night. I knew that he was thinking about his brother somewhere out there in the darkness that covered Canada like a blanket. Was he sleeping in a boxcar or by a campfire in a hobo jungle? Was he sick or hungry? I knew that Max would worry for as long as these questions remained unanswered.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan March 2, 1938

Both Grace and Maisie couldn't be happier that Juanita is available to nurse Van when he returns to this side of the Atlantic. All of us know that he couldn't be in better hands. Juanita may be a domineering taskmistress, but I can't deny that I owe my recovery from my stroke in large part to her skill and care.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

The whole family was at the station with me to await Van's arrival along with the Lanes and the Schmitzes. All my worst doubts and fears paraded themselves through my imagination. Outwardly, I may have seemed calm and collected, but inwardly I was shaking like a sapling in a hurricane. When the train finally pulled in, I scanned the cars anxiously for any sign of Van. Then, he emerged from the third car.

I could feel my breath drawing in from the shock. He was thinner than I remembered. Even shadowed by the brim of his fedora, I could see that the top half of his left ear was pulped and scarred. The hair above it had grown back patchily. I could just make out a vivid red scar running lengthwise.

Van looked around the station platform. My heart sank as he looked right at me for a second but showed no sign of recognition. Then his gaze swept on until he looked back at his brother, Lionel Marshall, who was standing directly behind him next to Juanita Bascomb who exuded crispness and competence in her starched nurse's uniform. Lionel looked like a more streamlined and aristocratic version of Van. They exchanged words that none of us could hear.

Hub and Henry, on their mother's instructions, reached them and took their bags. Then, Van began to descend the steps to the platform. He walked with a certain hesitation. His brother kept his hand gripped on his right arm. His eyes still scanned the crowd on the platform, and I remembered the reports from his doctors about his blurred vision. I rushed towards him from out of the crowd and called to him.

He tried to run towards me but stopped suddenly and spat out an agonized oath. His head and shoulders hunched as though suffering a seizure. His hands flew to his head as though to keep it from falling to pieces. For about ten seconds, as I stood in front of him and his brother placed his hands on his shoulders, his head was bowed with pain. Lionel reproached him for being so careless. The doctor told him not to make sudden movements.

Then my husband slowly looked up at me. His gaze was slightly unfocused, but his smile was beautiful. "It's alright. The headaches and the dizziness are getting better. So is my eyesight." A look of recognition and delight came onto his face as he sniffed curiously. "You remembered the perfume."

"Joy." I wanted to add a lighter note, perhaps a thank you to heaven for Jean Patou introducing the fragrance but could only stand there speechless.

Van slowly took me in his arms and kissed me so tenderly that I could feel the tears spring to my eyes. "I won't ever let you go again, Grace."

I looked up at him and said the only thing I could. "I don't want you to. Not ever."

He kissed me again. There was no more fear, no more anxiety. We were both where we belonged for that moment and hopefully for a lifetime. As I felt my husband's lips on mine, there was only one thought. This was the man I loved and who loved me.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton March 6, 1938

… We all returned home where Grace, Toppy, and I began to prepare Sunday dinner while, at Juanita's and his brother's insistence, Van rested in the guest bedroom. I hadn't seen Grace so happy in a long time. She was actually humming "You're the Cream in My Coffee" as she sliced the carrots for her roast beef.

Next Week: Lionel Marshall's Story. Comrades reunited.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

From the Journal of Maisie McGinty March 6, 1938

… While we waited for dinner, I showed Lionel the painting of the Princess Eboli in the dining room. He already knew that Van had persuaded Grace to impersonate her two summers ago for a prank he had played on some friends of his. He was impressed by the painting. The Princess Eboli must have been a dead ringer for Grace. She didn't look the least bit Spanish. Lionel nodded when I told him that her mother was a German Catholic.

Later, in the parlor, Hal Lane asked Lionel why his last name was different from his brother's. He didn't mean to pry, but he couldn't help being a little confused. I realized that in all the time Grace and I had been visiting him and his wife, we hadn't told them much about Van's family. We had mentioned that Van didn't get along with them and little else.

Fortunately, Lionel didn't get his nose out of joint over Mr. Lane's question. He was good-natured about laying out the whole story. The Lanes looked as thunderstruck as I felt when I first heard it and realized that being rich didn't necessarily mean having it easy. I still can't believe that anyone could be as rotten as old Jonathan Marshall. What kind of guy disowns his son for wanting to go into business and make money instead of going into the army and maybe getting killed in a war?

Both my mom and my grandpop told me every now and then that they ought to throw me out into the street, but they would never have actually done it. I can't believe that Van's older brother gave him the bum's rush too. That wasn't even the worst of it as Lionel explained acidly. "My dear father forced our sister to marry a virtual carbon copy of himself. Poor Jane went from being browbeaten in her family home to being browbeaten in her own home."

May shook her head. "I still can't believe it, an arranged marriage in this day and age."

Lionel gave her a relaxed smile. "It was more of an understanding than an arrangement. Father tried to do the same to me. I refused."

Mrs. Lane stuck her oar in. "You didn't like the girl he chose?"

Lionel's smile became even more relaxed. "I liked her very much. She was a very sweet, kindhearted person. That's why I never would have let her marry into a family as awful as mine even if I were the marrying type. When father realized that I preferred to continue with my wicked bohemian existence, he disowned me like he did Van."

"I don't know if I approve of wicked bohemian existences," Archie commented, "But disowning your own child much less two of them seems a little extreme."

"Not for my father. He could afford to cross Van and me off. He had our perfect older brother to carry on the family name. Charles Marshall was probably the only Marine in the history of the corps who didn't curse, get drunk, or chase women."

May gave me the fish eye as I stifled a laugh. Lionel continued as though nothing was happening. "Of course, after the war ended and he was discharged, he married the prig of our father's choice. From what my sister tells me the two of them are very happy together."

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

As [Maisie] hurried up the stairs to bring Van down to dinner, I suddenly realized that the last time we had been together in this house was the day I discovered his hidden life as a con artist. I was amazed at how distant the anger and bitterness that had raged in me then was. The memory still hurt, but mostly all I felt now was love and concern for Van and the growing hope that we could rebuild our marriage on a basis of trust and respect.

I smiled as I walked back towards the kitchen past the Empire clock on the mantel, sparing a glance at the blissful bronze Cupid and Psyche that crowned it before I left the parlor. My ears caught a hint of hard driving swing from upstairs, "One O'Clock Jump" by a sensational new big band out of Kansas City led by former Benny Moten Orchestra pianist Count Basie. It was probably one of the stack of records sent to Van by his New York friend and fellow jazz club haunter John Hammond. If my husband was listening to hot jazz, he must be feeling better.

… Van was happy to meet the Lanes and the Schmitzes at last after hearing so much about them from their sons. He congratulated Will on how deftly he used his split hook to hold and manipulate a knife while cutting his roast beef. Will replied that Van should have seen him during the first month of trying to get used to it. He was dropping things all the time.

Van doubted he was that clumsy. "I'm sure you learned soon enough like you learned how to drill and keep your rifle clean."

Will smiled ruefully. "I remember. We all looked like a bunch of clowns the first time we drilled."

Van grinned. "It wasn't that bad. After a couple of more tries, most of us only looked like a bunch of clowns half the time. Of course, then Brigade Command decided that we were fully trained soldiers and sent us into the line to fight the Fascists."

The kids and some of the adults looked shocked to hear two ex-soldiers speak so irreverently of their commanding officers not to mention their own experiences. I grimaced. I had suspected a certain amount of disorganization in the International Brigades and stupidity on the command level for a long time. It was still unnerving to have two veterans confirm my suspicions. Max smiled the ruefully knowing smile of someone who had seen it all before. Mother changed the subject by asking Van what his trip across the Atlantic had been like.

… The Schmitzes were beaming at all the nice things he had to say about Harry. They were touched by all the nice things their son had said about them. Van spoke of Harry with warmth and fondness, but also with a hint of melancholy that made it obvious how much he missed his friend. I knew from Van's letters and Ida's complaints that there were things he wasn't mentioning, Harry's eye for the ladies and his earnest atheism. Fortunately, Ida didn't bring either up.

I think that she was sobered by the recent news of Harry's Cousin Gottfried and his narrow escape from death. His shrapnel wounds hadn't been as bad as Van's. He had only required a couple of weeks in the hospital and was now back with the Thaelmanns. However, three of the men next to him, including one who had been with him in the Thaelmanns since the beginning, had been killed. I also caught Ida glancing at Van's mangled ear a couple of times. I suspected that all she could feel at the moment was relief that her son was alive and uninjured.

Johann told us all about Gottfried's latest letter. He and his comrades were resting in a small village behind the lines while they awaited further orders. They were happy to be out of combat and relived that they would be able to relax and regroup for a while.

The next day, Franco launched his spring offensive into Aragon. The Republican lines, thinly

manned by inadequately armed conscripts, crumpled like paper. Franco's columns struck and shattered the International Brigades in the villages where they were billeted. Bands of fearful survivors struggled to maintain discipline as they attempted a fighting retreat towards the north. Five days later, Hitler invaded and annexed Austria.

The fascists had plans for Spain, for Europe and for the world. Those who had the courage to oppose them lacked the strength to prevail. Those who had the strength lacked both the courage to stand up and the intellectual honesty to see fascism for the murderous evil that it was. Darkness so deep that it seemed as though it would blot out the dawn forever was falling across the world.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan March 7, 1938

… Dr. Barlow made a house call to see Van in spite of his protest to Juanita that he was rested enough to visit Dr. Barlow's office. I tried to warn Van of the futility of resisting Juanita's arrangements for medical care, but he had to learn for himself. He is almost stubborn enough to be a member of the Bailey family by blood instead of marriage.

I still can't believe that he consented to letting Maisie attend the examination of his wound even if Dr. Barlow did say that it would be helpful in her studies of medicine. It's good of him to admire her ambition to be a doctor, but I'm not sure that an unbandaged head wound is the sort of thing that a 17-year-old girl should see up close.

From the Journal of Maisie McGinty March 7, 1938

I can hardly believe my luck. I saw an actual shrapnel wound up close. Van was a good sport to let me look. Dr. Barlow's explanation of what I was seeing was riveting. The man knows everything about medicine. If he weren't three times my age, already married and not Hub Bailey, I'd be in love.

I will try to remember what he told me. The shrapnel skimmed across the skull instead of striking it directly. The top of Van's left ear was mangled and nearly sliced off but has healed very well. Plastic surgery or a prosthetic could improve its appearance. The blunt force trauma to the skull and brain was more serious. It has obviously affected Van's sight and sense of balance and is responsible for his headaches and dizziness.

Fortunately, judging by the reports of his doctors from Paris and New York and his own account, he's showing steady improvement. Dr. Barlow was impressed that he is beginning to be able to distinguish separate letters instead of just separate lines of print even if they still aren't clear enough for him to read. Also, the loss of peripheral vision to his right is considerably less than it was when he was in the hospital at Benicassim.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry March 8, 1938

… Mr. Cramp asked after Van when I dropped by the Chronicle office to turn in my latest column. I was warmed by his concern for my husband's health which was unquestionably sincere. Nonetheless, I should have been alert for an ulterior motive. I probably shouldn't have been surprised at the question he soon asked. "Has he recovered enough to do an interview for the Chronicle?"

I recognized the gleam in Mr. Cramp's eye. He was seeing himself as the proverbial scoop-hungry editor with printer's ink in his veins out of a movie or that new radio show with Edward G. Robinson, Big Town. I decided to be cautious. "He's well enough to hold a conversation, but he does need rest. I'll tell him you'd like to talk to him, but it's up to him and Dr. Barlow."

Mr. Cramp must have been disappointed, but he did a manful job of concealing it. "Of course. His recovery comes first. I suppose that now that he's back you'll be quitting work in order to look after him full time.?"

I allowed that I would be cutting down my workload. I was ten columns ahead, so I could take some time off from researching and writing the column. Mrs. Cramp had reluctantly agreed to let me put in fewer hours at CRNB. I didn't mention that she had tried to make her agreement conditional on my persuading Van to let himself be interviewed on CRNB. Mother had arranged to delegate more of our work and for us to do more of what was left at home. "However, I don't see myself quitting work here in New Bedford entirely until Van and I leave to start a new life."

Mr. Cramp frowned. "I don't know that I approve. A woman's only important duty is to look after her husband. Any work she does outside the home is more-or-less inconsequential."

I smiled at him as sweetly as I could. "So, you don't mind if I tell Mrs. Cramp you said that?"

The look of abject horror on his face was highly satisfying. "Let's not be hasty. Perhaps I was a little rash in my judgement."

I agreed with him that perhaps he was. At that point, he all but begged me for my silence. "If Callie hears about this, she'll spend the next week making my life miserable."

I let him grovel a little more. We ended up agreeing that I wouldn't say anything to Mrs. Cramp, and he would owe me a favor.

Of course, when I complained to Van that night that Mr. Cramp wanted women to be slaves to their husbands, he had to tease. "I wouldn't mind having you wait on me hand and foot." He raised a finger in mock Victorian sternness. "A man should be master in his own home."

It was hard to look disapproving, even as a joke, when I wanted to giggle, but I somehow managed it. "This is my mother's home and if I'd wanted a master, I would have been born a dog."

Van grinned wickedly. "A leash and collar wouldn't suit you. My arms on the other hand …."

I leaned over until my lips were a hairsbreadth from his so he wouldn't have to make any sudden movements that might aggravate his wound. He didn't, but he bridged the distance in what seemed less than an instant. His right arm curled around my back and drew me closer.

Electricity raced through my nerves. After far too short a time, we broke off our embrace. I had to take a moment to clear the haze from my head. Afterwards, I couldn't help thinking that I could never understand how it is that a man can exasperate you one moment and set you on fire the next. Perhaps some things are meant to be mysteries.

Van seemed in such good spirits, that for a brief while I dared to hope against reason and experience that maybe his long convalescence and journey home had given him time to work through his nightmares. I should have known better. I slept beside Van's bed that night on father's old camp bed. His scream tore through my sleep like an axe through kindling. Somewhere in that scream I recognized a name, Esteban.

As I held Van while he waited for the headache his thrashing had caused to fade away, he told me that Esteban was a private in his squad with the Lincoln Battalion who had gone up Mosquito Ridge with him and died there. He refused to say how and I'm not sure that I want to know.

You should be glad that your Mark was in the Supply Service in the Great War and didn't have to fight. He is right to be worried about his brother Bart though. When the next war comes, the army reserve will be called up immediately to form the backbone of the new army Canada will have to raise to fight it.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton March 10, 1938

I had lunch with Toppy today. It seems that Rebecca is over the moon that she will be hosting a weekly three-minute fashion segment on New Bedford Notes. Toppy could have been more excited. Not that she wasn't happy for Rebecca, but, as she admitted to me, she would have liked to fill the position herself.

However, Grace made a persuasive appeal for her to stand aside. Grace pointed out that Toppy has Archie, her dress shop, and her writing career. She already has most of what she really wants in her life. Rebecca is just starting to discover what she wants in hers. That may or may not be show business, but shouldn't she have the chance to find out?

Toppy had to agree. I couldn't resist telling her that she had behaved better than she did six years ago when she used her clout as head of the New Bedford Dramatic Society to strong arm Max into giving her the ingenue role in his play Train to Nowhere. That role would have been perfect for Grace.

Toppy looked reproachful. "Grace didn't mention that. She's too er gracious." Toppy's hurt changed to chagrin. "I admit that I was twenty years too old to play Louisa. It's just that the part spoke so powerfully to the discontent I was feeling at that time."

Toppy did have news from Grace about Van's visit to the New Bedford Hospital. Dr. Barlow was satisfied with Van's new x-rays. They showed a small fracture at the point where the shrapnel struck, but it seems to be almost completely healed. Grace is hopeful that Van's eyes will improve to the point where he can read again. In the meantime, She and Juanita take turns reading to him, each from a different book. He and Grace have just started to work their way through Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad.

In two weeks: Roast chicken and stride piano. May Bailey receives an apology. Maisie receives a letter.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

From the Journal of Maisie McGinty March 10, 1938

I didn't get to know Van very well before he went off to war, but I'm starting to understand why Grace married him. He really is a nice guy. He made a point of telling me how much he liked the supper I made even though the roast chicken was dry as sawdust and the rolls were burnt. At least the squash turned out all right.

Van also said my piano playing afterwards was within respectable hailing distance of Fats Waller's. That means something coming from someone who, with his own eyes, saw Waller, Willie "the Lion" Smith, James Johnson, and Art Tatum compete in a cutting contest in a Harlem bar. When I told him that my mom taught me the piano, he replied that judging by the apple the tree must have been magnificent.

He wished he could have met her. So, do I. What I appreciate more than his kindness to me is that he makes Grace happy. I haven't seen her laugh and smile this much in a long time.

I'd love to have something like that cooking with Hub. Why does he have to be such a kluck. If I hear him say one more time what a pal I am or how much he misses Laura Bridgeman, I may brain him. At least he makes Catholic theology easy to understand. As much as I hate to say it, he may be meant to be a priest. I wonder if the letter I sent yesterday has made it to New York yet.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

… I didn't know when Van anxiously asked Mother if he could speak to her about something important what he had in mind. He later told me that he hadn't expected to bring up the subject so soon because there were certain people in the house who didn't know the whole story. However, Maisie was at the hospital doing volunteer work and Juanita had gone to the movies to see Hollywood Hotel. Mother was understandably curious, especially when Van told her that he would have spoken to her earlier, but there were some things that he didn't want to talk about in front of Maisie and Juanita and this was the first night since his arrival that both were out of the house at the same time. "That sounds mysterious."

"It isn't." Van hesitated to speak for a moment. When he did there was deep regret in his voice. "I just want to say something that you have a right to hear from me personally. I know that what I did to Grace when I first met her was rotten and inexcusable. I know that I hurt her deeply … and it must have hurt you to see her suffering. I am truly sorry, and I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

"Forgive you?" Mother stared at Van intently and then spoke coolly. "I have nothing but contempt for the man who lied to my daughter, tricked her into a false marriage, and involved her in a swindle."

"Mother …" I protested.

Mother raised her hand and gave Van a beautiful smile as she continued to speak to him. "That man is no longer with us. I believe he died the moment you turned your back on your life as a confidence man and sought to atone. The man I see in front of me is a good man who has risked his life for others, a man who truly loves my daughter and has kept faith with her. That man needs no forgiveness. That man is welcome in this house and in this family."

Van returned Mother's smile with one just as beautiful. "Thank you. I know what a precious thing Grace's love is. It gave me the strength to be better than I was and to make it through this war. I swear that I will do whatever I have to for the rest of my life to be worthy of it."

… Lionel had been looking on unsurprised during the entire conversation. At the end, he was beaming with brotherly pride. Afterwards, I asked him if he had known what Van was going to say. He smiled. "Of course, I did. He apologized to me earlier for not being the kind of brother I could be proud of. I told him not to be so hard on himself. He tried to shield our sister and me from Father's iron hand and Mother's indifference when we were children. I don't know how we would have gotten through those days without him."

My brother-in-law's reminiscing made me pensive. "He hasn't talked to me much about those times, but I know he feels bad about leaving you two when he broke with your parents."

"He shouldn't," Lionel assured me. "I don't blame him for it. I did the same when I was old enough. I just wish Jane could follow our example, but even if she weren't terrified of displeasing her husband, she could never leave her children."

Lionel was suddenly silent. His eyes were filled with sadness. After a moment, I spoke. "And you've never seen them?"

"Only photographs." He answered with bitterness. "Van hasn't seen them either and when he was still a con artist maybe there was some justification for that. However, our stuffed shirt of a brother-in-law won't even let us send them Christmas presents. Jane has tried to talk to him, but the fact that Van has reformed and intends to repay his victims makes no difference to him."

From the Journal of Honey Sutton March 11, 1938

I had lunch with Chao-xing Yuen at the gazebo today. As we ate and talked, our sons played with the Yuen's dog Sue. It's hard to believe how fast they're growing. In a couple of years, they'll be going to elementary school together. Mr. Yuen heard from his father yesterday. He is well and there is no sign that the Imperial Japanese Army is going to resume the wholesale slaughter of civilians in Nanking. Nonetheless, he and his fellow survivors are still living under a harsh foreign occupation.

From the Journal of Maisie McGinty March 13, 1938

The news has been nothing but bad this week. The Fascists continue to push through Aragon towards the sea. There has been no word of Van's pals in the Mac-Paps and the Lincoln Battalion. Yesterday, just to make everything hunky dory, that crumb Hitler annexed Austria.

At least Lionel and my dad have gotten on like a house on fire. You'd think a high-toned swell from New York and an ex-con from the wrong side of the tracks wouldn't have much to say to each other outside of a Hollywood movie. In this case, you'd be wrong.

They're both keen on chess and Lionel is the first player since dad learned the game to pass the time in prison who can actually make him break a sweat. Dad is in awe of Lionel's stories about his classy antique store in midtown Manhattan and appreciates him not trying to chisel on the price of the writing desk he bought last week. Neither of us would ever have known it was an antique from the Regency.

Lionel has also shown respect for the hard work dad has put into the pawnshop, telling him that "I visit a lot of small shops looking for treasures. You never know where a good piece will turn up. Yours is one of the best I've seen. No garish junk. Just sturdy, tasteful, and reasonably priced merchandise. It may not be valuable antiques, but there are real bargains here for people who don't have that kind of money."

Lionel was at the pawnshop today to look at a new shipment of merchandise dad bought at an estate sale in Clayton Hill. While dad was behind the counter dealing with a customer, I got up the nerve to show Lionel the unopened letter that just came in the mail. I thought that he should be the one to open it in case it contained the good news I was hoping for. Inside was a reply to my letter to his dad-from his dad's secretary. "My employer wishes to inform you that he has no son named James Marshall III or Vanaver Mainwaring. Neither does he have a son named Lionel Marshall. He is sorry that you had to waste your time in a useless appeal on these men's behalf. He wishes you well but would appreciate it if you were to make no further attempt to contact him on this matter."

The letter was a real letdown. I remember how much I missed knowing my dad before he came back to me. I know it was a pipe dream, but I had to at least try to bring Lionel and Van back together with theirs. Lionel took it like a champ. He read the letter aloud and then smiled at me. "That was almost civil. Father must be mellowing in his old age."

Next Week: The Schmitz family past and present. Retreat to the Ebro. Franco's mercy.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry March 17, 1938

… Van and I visited the Schmitzes today. We were accompanied by Juanita and by Will Lane and his parents. Both Johann and Ida are very worried about Harry and his cousin. What little news there is about the International Brigades in the papers or on the radio is not encouraging. Neither Van nor I mentioned New York Times correspondent William C. Carney's report of seeing the bodies of dead International Brigades members. I was glad that Van was certain that none of them was Harry. If there had been any Negroes among them, Carney would certainly have mentioned it along with the better uniforms and equipment as proof that they were from the International Brigades. He wouldn't have missed a chance to crow about fascist triumphs.

… The Schmitzes were glad to hear that Van was doing well enough to take walks. Will remarked that they should see the way the kids in town crowd around him, always asking questions about the war. He could have stopped there. He didn't have to add that if my darling husband weren't married, the girls would be doing the same or look so amused when he said it. After he lamented, tongue firmly in cheek, that he was yesterday's news with all of them, I took the opportunity to tease him a little. "At least Eileen Sawyer hasn't forgotten you."

Will actually blushed. "I took her to the movies a couple of times. We did have a lot of fun though."

I wasn't ready to show him mercy just yet. "That's a good start. Play your cards right, and you might enjoy yourselves all the way to the altar."

The look of panic in his eyes was very satisfying. "I've only been seeing her for a week. It's a little early to be talking about marriage."

"He's right, darling," Van interrupted slyly. "There's something to be said for the slow and cautious approach. After all, we knew each other for an entire month before we were married."

"Ah, the young," mused Johann fondly to Ida. "Did we ever have such fire in us?"

Ida looked at him with equal parts disapproval and affection. "You sure did. Woudn' stop comin' 'round the Childers' kitchen door when I was workin' for them. Tol' me I was the one you was gonna marry the third time we met. Thirty-eight years. Fo' children …."

Johann understood why she broke off and why she looked at him with such anxiety. He took her hand in his and smiled tenderly at her. "Gott will provide. Our boy will come back. When he does, he and Hal and I will go to that good fishing spot on Bas Lake. He won't believe how clear the water is. Not like Cabin Creek where the streams are orange because of the mine runoff"

A dreamy look stole across Ida's face. "He'll probably take to fishin' like his daddy has. Seems like ev'ry time he can Johann takes his rod 'n reel an' bucket of nightcrawlers an' brings back a mess o trout." Ida smiled. "Course I always hafta fry it up."

Van was smiling too. "Harry always did say that nothing would stop him from coming back and tasting your wonderful cooking again and he's a man who keeps his promises."

… As we left, Juanita shook her head. "It's a shame that they don't know if their son is alive or dead. Sometimes I wonder if I was wrong to stay single, but when I see what parents go through worrying about their children when they're sick or in danger …. Maybe it's a good thing I chose nursing over marriage."

I find it hard to understand not wanting a husband and children, but I can't say that Juanita is entirely wrong. Marriage can bring you happiness and contentment but doesn't guarantee them. Sometimes it can bring you terrible pain.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

As I turned the roadster onto Lake Street, I asked Van a question that had been on my mind. "Why did Ida say she and Johann had four children?"

Van didn't say anything for a moment. He just gave me a very unhappy look. As I saw in his eyes his decision to speak, that look became still more unhappy. "Harry told me about that in the trenches at Jarama. We had time to talk about a lot of things there."

I gave him a questioning look.

"No," he said as he raised his hand. "I didn't say anything about my past as a con artist. One of my reasons for going to Spain was to escape that."

Van was silent for another moment. A hint of shame deepened the unhappiness in his expression. Then it passed and he spoke again. "Johann took part in the Cabin Creek coal strike in West Virginia before the Great War. Did it make the papers in Canada?"

"It did," I confirmed. "I remember Father and Mother wondering why the mine owners couldn't have just invited some of their employees to talk over their grievances instead of dictating to them. Father had a theory."

"What was that?"

"Some people when they make a fortune or build a company let money and power go to their heads. They think they did it all by themselves. They forget the employees whose loyalty and hard work helped them every step of the way. They forget that they owe loyalty in return."

Van nodded. "I've known people like that. The mine owners were definitely that way. They wouldn't even negotiate with the strikers. They just hired strikebreakers to take their places and lowlifes from the Baldwin-Felts Detective Agency to intimidate them. The Baldwin-Felts men evicted the strikers and their families, including the Schmitzes, from their company-owned houses at gunpoint. Harry remembered them trampling through his mother's vegetable garden. Apparently, the corn and cabbages weren't even good for hog feed when they got through."

I winced. I would have hated for someone to do anything like that to my garden even if I did grow far more flowers than vegetables. "That's awful."

"Not as awful as what came next," Van continued grimly. "Harry and his family had to live in a tent for over a year while the mine owners were refusing to budge. Besides the three children you know about, Johann and Ida had a little girl named Lena, their youngest child. She was only two. Luckily, the winter was mild which disappointed the mine owners. They were hoping the miners would freeze to death or submit to their terms. However, there wasn't much food in the tent camp. Even with help from the union everyone suffered from malnutrition. If Lena hadn't been weakened by it, maybe her cold wouldn't have turned into pneumonia. Maybe she wouldn't have died. Harry told me that the day he lost his little sister was the day he started to become a Communist."

On that somber note, I asked Van what Harry's chances were of ever coming back from Spain. He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. His answer was just a little too cheerful to be convincing. "At this point, he's seen even more fighting than I have. He knows how to take care of himself."

I wasn't reassured. "I've had people say similar things about you. It gets hard to believe after the second or third time you have to tell a child that his or her pen pal is dead."

Van put a gentle hand on my arm. "You won't ever have to do that alone again. I'll come with you if you like the next time you have to deliver bad news."

I smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you. That means a lot, … but it doesn't tell me about Harry."

Van sighed as a grim frown settled on his face. "What's going on in Spain has all the characteristics of a rout. Casualties are probably very heavy."

I wasn't surprised, but my heart still sank. "At least the Fascists seem to be taking Lincolns and Mac-Paps alive instead of shooting them out of hand."

Van was unconvinced. "If you believe General Yagyue. Personally, the word of the butcher of Badajoz doesn't fill me with confidence. I'm glad Sidney Babsky is alive, though, even if his interview with Carney was obviously staged for foreign consumption. However, we don't know what's actually going on at the front." [Van's skepticism was fully justified. Shortly after the interview, Babsky and his fellow prisoners were taken out and shot. Although some of their comrades were spared to be sent to prison camps, executions of International Brigades prisoners in the field remained common. Ed.]

Van said nothing the rest of the way home, but I could tell that his thoughts were troubled.

Next Week: A heart with wings. What is a hero?


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

From the Journal of Maisie McGinty March 17, 1938

Van was feeling much better tonight. He had Grace put on the record of "These Foolish Things" sung by Helen Ward with Benny Goodman and his orchestra behind her. It wasn't the Billie Holliday version that was such a favorite with them the summer after they married. Grace accidentally left that back in Van's apartment in Toronto the last time she was there. Ward sang beautifully, but no one expresses yearning better than Billie Holliday, especially over Teddy Wilson's magical touch on the piano. Still, either version will haunt you.

Together, Grace and Van danced slowly around the parlor. It was good to see that the movement didn't give Van a headache or make him dizzy. Grace rested her cheek against his as Helen Ward crooned about how her heart had wings. The rest of us might just as well have been invisible for all the attention he and Grace paid to anyone but each other. I told Juanita that Van seemed to be getting back in the pink.

"That's the most dangerous time for a patient," she replied. "They start thinking they know more than the nurse … or the doctor." She gave May the fisheye. "They start thinking they can do more than they're ready to do."

May didn't bat an eyelash. "Aren't we lucky that I was such a considerate patient?"

My jaw dropped like a clown's baggy pants after one of the other clowns had cut the suspenders. That wasn't how I remembered it. Juanita raised an eyebrow. "You spent the entire summer complaining because I didn't have you doing cartwheels on a unicycle in the first week."

"That isn't true." May retorted with dry amusement. "A bicycle would have been sufficient."

Juanita looked at me. "You see what you have to look forward to when you join the medical profession?"

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

Van and I went upstairs early. I read the last three chapters of Lord Jim to him. When I was done, he looked at me pensively. "What did you think of it?"

I hesitated a little before answering. When I did, I spoke carefully. "Conrad was a very great writer. His insights … and the language he uses to express them … are as pure and true as silver."

"They are." Van agreed. "What did you think of Gentleman Brown?"

I shuddered. "A heartless cutthroat. He would have been right at home working for Franco … or Stalin."

Van smiled ruefully. "He would have. And Jim?"

That took a little more thought. "I think Jim was a man looking for salvation who perhaps found it. Conrad understands that human beings seek after the divine. I just wish he offered some certainty that the divine exists outside our own yearning for it."

"I wish God offered that kind of certainty, if he exists," Van replied.

"I don't think God means for us to be certain," I countered. "I think he means for us to believe."

Van looked doubtful. "Salvation by faith alone? Faith tells some of the faithful that being true to God means being cruel and unjust to their fellowmen and women."

"Most of us aren't Spanish bishops," I objected. "Most of us just want to be kind and thoughtful to each other … and to carry the burdens life places on us with dignity and self-respect. I believe that's what God wants for us too."

Van smiled at me and this time there was no irony in it. "Your kind of faith is a beautiful thing."

"Perhaps one day you'll share it."

"Perhaps," Van replied softly although a tinge of sadness shadowed his smile for the briefest of moments. We sat together for a while, content just to be together. Then my curiosity prodded me to speak. "What did you think of Lord Jim?"

"I've read the book three times," Van reminisced. "When I was fifteen, I was impressed by the way he left the woman he loved to face certain death. I thought he was the noblest hero in all of fiction. When I was twenty-five, I thought he was a complete fool." Wry amusement crept into his smile. "Now … I think maybe you have to be at least a little bit of a fool to be anything like a hero."

"I don't think you're a fool," I assured him.

"I'm not a hero either." There was so much warmth and tenderness in his voice and in the

look he gave me that I almost cried. "I'm just a soldier who was lucky enough to come out of hell and find an angel waiting for him."

In two weeks: Maisie and God. Generals and cigarettes. Fashions in iron.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

From the Journal of Maisie McGinty March 18, 1938

I wish I understood God better. Is he the kind and loving father Grace and Dad pray to? Is he the something greater than all of us my grandpop believed in? Is he the coldhearted creep who did nothing while my mom died of a fractured skull on a barroom floor? Somewhere, Dad finds enough strength to go one more day without a drink. Somewhere Grace finds the courage to stay with Van and comfort him in spite of the screams that come out of the guest room when he has a nightmare. How can the same God who gives them strength allow me to lose my mom without even a chance to tell her goodbye?

Hub says that maybe we aren't meant to know all the answers in this life. Maybe we're just meant to help each other out the best way we can and trust that the answers will be there for us when we pass on. I don't know what got into me, but I couldn't resist challenging him. "If the atheists are right, there's nothing waiting for us after we die."

Hub just smiled. "I don't believe that, but either way we should be kind to each other while we can. If the war in Spain teaches anything, it's that none of us knows how long we have to do that."

Grace Bailey to Sally Henry March 19, 1938

The temperature here in New Bedford inched its way above zero today and the snow yesterday was only a flurry. I always love to see the first signs of spring. Mother made a major concession and allowed Van to smoke in the parlor. Van was conscious of the privilege. He took his time sipping his brandy and smoking one and no more of the small cigars he enjoys so much.

It did smell better than the two or three cigarettes I tried some years back hoping to be as chic as Claudette Colbert or Norma Shearer. I quickly decided not to take up the habit. The problem with smoking to look glamorous is that you have to smoke.

What Hub said when he caught me doing it about the one time he tried it is true. The taste really is awful. Van obviously feels differently. After a particularly satisfying puff he remarked that he missed his brandy and cigars when he was in Spain. Maisie couldn't resist needling him.

"So that's why you came back," she wisecracked, "and we all thought it was because you missed Grace."

Van kidded her right back, smiling good naturedly as he did so. "A man can get along without women in a pinch, but a good cigar is absolutely essential."

I gave him a mock pout. "Well, that's nice. I'm glad you think so highly of me."

Van looked at me with a sly, smoldering smile that made my heart flutter as he put his cigar down on the ash tray. "Come a little closer, darling. I'll show you exactly what I think of you."

Mother gasped at such a public display of desire, but I didn't care. I leaned over. My husband's kiss was slow and warm. I couldn't help but remember one or two past occasions when, with no company around, he had expressed his feelings for me with more than kisses. When we stopped, Mother was staring at us with silent disapproval. Maisie was grinning ear to ear. "So, you did come back from Spain for something besides a good smoke. "

Van looked at Maisie and grimaced. "The cigarettes there were terrible. The Communist bigwigs behind the lines got Lucky Strikes. We got Gauloises which taste like hot tar and stable sweepings. The first time I smoked one, I understood why the gangsters in French movies are always so cranky. Of course, we were just fighting soldiers. As far as Andre Marty [Commander of the International Brigades. Ed.] and his crowd at brigade headquarters were concerned, barely good enough was good enough for us."

The conversation turned to small talk after that. All of us relaxed. The evening was shaping up to be one of the most pleasant I had seen in a long time. None of us could have anticipated what was about to happen.

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan March 19, 1938

A puff of wind could have blown me over when I opened the front door to see Ward Manton from the freight office at the railroad station. He and three husky men, no doubt brought along for the occasion, were standing over a long, rectangular packing crate. None of them knew what was in the crate, only that they were carrying out instructions to deliver it to Van. My son-in-law had no idea what might be inside.

I was reluctant to allow the crate to be brought into the front hall, but it was simply too cold to try to open it on the porch. Fortunately, Manton and his helpers managed the operation without scraping the doorframe. After they gently lowered the crate onto the floor and left, the rest of us gathered around it. Grace wondered what might be inside. Maisie suggested, far too enthusiastically, that there was enough room for a large coffin. You can be sure that I admonished her for being morbid, but not too harshly. The girl is high spirited, not malicious.

Van noticed an envelope glued to the side of the crate with his name on it. He opened it as Grace, Lionel, and Maisie looked on avidly. Inside there was an extremely brief note. It read "From one crusader to another," and was signed John Hammond. I recognized the name of Van's fellow jazz enthusiast turned impresario from occasional mentions in his and Grace's conversation. From the chuckle he quickly stifled, Lionel obviously had some idea of what the message meant. So did Van from the rueful way he shook his head.

Grace shot him an inquiring look. A chagrined explanation was forthcoming. "Back when we used to go to jazz clubs together John was always on fire to do something about the injustices of the world. I sympathized, but I was always reminding him that there are other things in life. I told him to relax and enjoy himself more instead of always being such a crusader." The corners of his lips twisted wryly. "Then I joined the International Brigades and went to war against fascism."

Lionel fetched crowbars from the cellar. He and Van, removed their jackets, rolled up their sleeves, and got to work on the crate. The effort showed that Lionel was more muscular than he appeared. I suppose he gets a great deal of exercise moving heavy antiques. He and Van made short work of the lid and then removed the packing straw.

Van shook his head in disbelief. The rest of us couldn't help laughing when we saw what was underneath, a gleaming suit of armor topped with a red plume. Its gauntleted hands were crossed over the breastplate clutching a broadsword. Grace was puzzled. She looked at Van. "From what you told me about John Hammond, I didn't think he had this strong a sense of humor."

"He doesn't," Van admitted. "He must have gotten the idea from someone who does." Van examined the armor. "Obviously, costume armor." Van turned his attention to the broadsword. "This looks like an actual medieval broadsword?"

"It is," Lionel informed him, smiling like a cat that had just swallowed a particularly succulent canary.

The dreadful truth dawned on Van instantly. "I should have known. How could you?"

"Not very easily," Lionel replied, obviously enjoying his brother's discomfiture. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find shining armor for someone who's 6'2'' and as broad in the shoulder as you are."

Van understood the implication of his brother's words perfectly. His eyes widened in horror. "I am not wearing that thing."

Grace sidled up to him, smiled sweetly, and all but batted her eyelashes. "Not even for me? You'd look so cute in it."

"You too?" Van tried to look deeply hurt but didn't quite manage it.

Grace's lips quirked slightly. "Just think of the fashion talk Rebecca could give. 'Tuxedos for men are out. The iron look is in this year.'"

"I still think I'd rather get my suits from a tailor than from a blacksmith."

"Don't be a spoilsport. The fashion might even spread to women. Just imagine. His and hers suits of armor with matching dirks and broadswords."

"Women don't need blades," Van teased affably. "They fence well enough with their tongues."

Grace raised an eyebrow in mock outrage. "Are you saying that I'm a shrew."

Van gave her a mischievous but loving smile that would have melted me on the spot if I were forty years younger. "If you are, you're the sweetest, loveliest, most adorable shrew I know."

Grace's smile was filled with warmth, amusement, and just a hint of eagerness. "Since you put it that way, I forgive you."

It was the kind of smile that makes me nervous every time they go into the guest room together.

Next Week: Memories of Spain. Out of the Ring. How the Children Are Doing.


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

Van and I settled into the guest room for another night of platonic comfort. As long as Van was not completely recovered from his wound, we would have to settle for comfort however tempting unplatonic bliss might be. Still, comfort had its pleasures, especially our nightly talks about music, our families, our future, or any topic under the sun that struck us as interesting.

Van was in a very good mood as he settled under the covers on the solid wood frame bed where I had been born thirty-six years earlier. It seemed like a good time to bring up a subject that I had been holding off on discussing. I admitted to reading what the Anarchist and Trotskyite papers were saying about the Communists in Spain. I wasn't sure how much of what they were saying to believe, but if even half of it were true, the Spanish Republic had some serious problems.

Van listened gravely and then confirmed that NKVD agents were allowed to operate freely in the Republic and even run private prisons. There was little doubt that they had tortured and even murdered political opponents. There was an attempt to keep knowledge of that sort of thing from the International Brigades not to mention the world at large. However, you could learn a lot in Spain if you spoke the language and kept your ears open. "Don't get me wrong. Stalin's Communists have influence in the Republic, but they don't rule it and never have. They get away with a lot because the Republic is dependent on the Soviet Union for so much of its arms and supplies. However, the regular army and most people in the Republic who aren't Communists despise them."

"And you?"

"The only Communists for whom I have any respect," Van answered bitterly, "are the ones who stood shoulder to shoulder with me when the bullets were flying … and the ones who cared for the wounded. The rest can go straight to hell. I'm not the only one in the International Brigades who feels that way. Some of us deserted when we had the chance. I won't deny that sometimes I felt tempted to join them."

What he was telling me was a glimpse into a world of soldiers in a troubled land that I instinctively knew I would never truly understand without experiencing it myself. Nonetheless, in spite of the shock I felt, something compelled me to try. "Why didn't you?"

He spoke lightly, but there was a hint of grave thoughtfulness at the edges of his smile. "My men needed someone to look after them and the fascists wouldn't have quit just because I did."

As we continued to talk, it became obvious that Van's disdain of the higher echelons of the Communist Party particularly included Andre Marty who he described as "a paranoid monster. He sees Trotskyites and fifth columnists around every corner, so he terrorizes the International Brigades with spy hunts and executions on the slightest suspicion of disloyalty. Fortunately, he's mostly laid off the Lincolns and the Mac-Paps because he's afraid of bad publicity here and in the states."

I had heard rumors about Marty also, but having Van confirm them was still unsettling. "And you had to fight for a commander like him for over a year."

Van gave me a stern but not angry look. "I fought under him, but never for him."

From the Journal of Honey Sutton Mar. 21, 1938

Joe dropped in out of the blue late Saturday night. Apparently, one of my brother's fighters had been on the ticket in Northbridge earlier in the evening, so he nipped up here for a quick visit. David Doyle and two of their fighters, including the one on the Northbridge ticket, joined him the next day. We all had Sunday dinner together. David was curious to see his near double and the two of them together made an astonishing sight. He and Van look more like brothers than Van and his real brother.

It was interesting, if a little gruesome to hear them compare injuries. Apparently, David's symptoms from the beating he took in his last fight were similar to those from Van's shrapnel wound if somewhat less severe. David admitted that he had been angry with the doctor for telling him that he had to stop fighting if he didn't want to risk permanent brain damage or worse and with Joe for agreeing with the doctor. However, he was now grateful for Joe's threat to spread the word to his fellow fight managers about the diagnosis if he tried to look for someone else to manage him.

It hadn't been easy to face the end of his fight career, but Joe had been right in saying that the most important thing a fighter can know about the ring is when to walk away. At least training younger fighters and seeing them develop has been tremendously satisfying. He is very proud of how well they've done.

He mentioned later that Van would have been proud if he could have seen everything Grace did for him and his comrades last summer, not just raising money, but speaking up for them. The love and gratitude in the smile Van turned on Grace were more beautiful than any poem. "I've been proud of this woman ever since she consented to be my wife."

… With Mother Bailey's reluctant consent, Maisie put more life in the evening by demonstrating the difference between Teddy Wilson's elegant style of jazz piano playing and the more exuberant stride school favored by Fats Waller on Grace's baby grand. I can't say that I'm a jazz fan. My favorite pianist is still Eddie Duchin. I could let the sweet waves of his playing wash over me forever. Still, Fats Waller hides some beautiful melodies under his flood of notes and Teddy Wilson has an agreeable ease. After dinner, Joe made an announcement that floored all of us. He and Julie were engaged.

… There was more good news today. Van had an encouraging report from Dr. Barlow. His eyesight and peripheral vision are almost normal. The dizziness and headaches from sudden movements are much less than they were. Dr. Barlow thinks that Van is on the way to a full recovery. There was even some good news for him from Spain. According to Herbert Matthews of the New York Times, the XVth International Brigade, including the Abraham Lincoln Battalion and the Mac-Paps, escaped the fall of Caspe and remains intact, although there have been casualties.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry March 22, 1938

Marjorie sends her love. You should have seen her oohing and ahing at the latest pictures of your darling children over lunch today. Of course, she doesn't think they are as adorable as her Jacob, but she was impressed.

Jacob's grandparents would certainly second her opinion of him, especially Lorna Macfarlane. He is the light of her life right now with her husband Gene unable to find his way out of the bottle and her children living away from New Bedford. To see how friendly she is with Ollie and Marjorie these days, you would never know that she was initially opposed to Alice giving her child to them to raise.

She had legitimate reasons. It won't be easy for Jacob growing up in a small town where everyone knows that his mother wasn't married when she had him. However, he couldn't have more loving adoptive parents and the way Marjorie's parents, sister, and nephews have also accepted him as one of their own is heartwarming.

Lorna dropped by while Marjorie and I were talking. While not wildly enthusiastic at seeing me there, she managed to be reasonably polite. I think since I've been lending Alice money to go to secretarial school, she has started to realize that my family doesn't actually have it in for hers.

Speaking of noses and Marjorie's nephews, Alec's nose has been pressed tight to the grindstone lately. Libby has taken Max's warning that he needs to work harder in history class if he wants to graduate in May seriously. She's making him stay at his grandparents' house after school, so she knows that he'll be studying until she finishes work. His brother has never needed to be told to study.

All those years of waiting tables at the tearoom since her husband died in order to support her boys can't have been easy, but Libby can be proud of how well they are turning out. I can't imagine what it takes to bring up even one child without a husband and father to help. I doubt I could do it myself.

I also can't imagine what it takes to make a dent in Mr. Graham's objections to working women. Before the board meeting this morning, he said with perfect cheerfulness that he hoped that now that Van was back and recovering from his wound, he'd lay down the law about me working. I told him that Van and I don't have that kind of marriage. We agree on the law between us.

Next Week: Movers and shakers. Prize interviews.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan March 24, 1938

If any doubts had remained in my mind that Van has truly changed his ways, the past four days would have obliterated them. Like Will Lane when he first returned to New Bedford, he has personally visited every one of the pen pals in Grace's program to offer his thanks for what they have done this past year. From what Grace has told me, it meant a great deal to those brave children to hear how profound the hope and comfort was that their kindness and friendship brought to his comrades.

There was a time when I would have spoken the word comrade with a sneer. I still have no love for the Communist leadership in any country, but many of the rank and file are another matter. I cannot bring myself to look with anything but respect on courageous men who are placing their lives between murderous insanity and all that we, as civilized people, cherish. I pray that the lack of news about the Lincolns and Mac-Paps since Monday isn't, as Van fears, a portent of further disaster.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry Mar. 24, 1938

As I write this, Van and his brother are in a back room of the lodge of the New Bedford Chapter of the Fraternal Order of the Eagles playing in the movers and shakers poker game. Of course, when he told me that he had been invited to the weekly meeting of the Eagles, he was shocked to find that I knew what some of the members and the occasional guest got up to afterwards. He was even more shocked to learn that my father was not only a charter member of the New Bedford chapter, but one of the founders of the movers and shakers poker game.

I wasn't surprised to learn that Mr. Cramp, with his old-fashioned ideas of what was suitable for the hearing of respectable young ladies, had told him not to mention the game to me. "Be careful of him. He's sneaky. If he can't persuade you to grant him an interview, I wouldn't put it past him to ask you questions while you're playing and print your answers."

Van smiled. "Maybe he just wants a donation for the Eagles' charity work."

"Most likely both."

"At least he tries to do some good."

"And makes sure that he and his wife get full coverage for it in the Chronicle."

Van was amused. "He wouldn't be the first newspaper owner to use his rag to blow his own horn."

"He isn't all bad," I felt compelled to add. "He and Mrs. Cramp are sincerely glad that you made it back safely."

Van nodded in acknowledgement. Then, he asked half seriously, "Should I be afraid of him at the poker table?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Not just him. We have some real hardboiled characters in this town. They actually play for pennies instead of matches like those pikers in Pinebury."

I hope Van is enjoying himself and that I am wrong about Mr. Cramp's plans for the evening. Except for the donation, of course. Van could use some relaxation. In the past three days, putting aside his own fears and griefs, he has comforted pen pals who have lost or are anxious for friends in the Lincolns and Mac-Paps. He tries to play it down, but the experience has unsettled him and the lack of news about the two battalions hasn't helped. Anything that takes his mind off his and his friends' troubles for a couple of hours is welcome.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

… For all my joking, I still worried a little about Van's chances with the experienced players at the movers and shakers. When Lionel arrived to drive Van to the game, I warned Lionel to keep an eye on his brother. He just smiled. "Van's held his own in much rougher company. I once saw him win $18,000 from Arnold Rothstein."

I still can't believe that I didn't faint on the spot. I'm sure my eyes were wide as windows. "The man who fixed the World Series?"

Lionel's smile got even wider. "Or took a cut for making it easy for others to fix it. I've heard it both ways. Don't get my brother wrong, though. Even when he was still grifting, he only played poker for amusement." Lionel winced. "I don't miss those days. It's a relief to hear the phone ring and know that it's not the news that Van is under arrest."

… It was past eleven when they got back. My eyes were having trouble focusing on the print of the novel I was reading when I heard Lionel's Dusenberg pull into the driveway. I hurried to the front door and opened it, shivering at the blast of freezing air from outside. After waving goodbye to his brother, Van turned to me and said, "It was nice of him to give me a ride back, but I almost wish I could have walked. The night air would have done me some good."

The thought of Van walking alone in near zero temperatures with no one to help him if something bad happened frightened me, but I concealed it with a dry comment. "If the cold didn't kill you, Juanita would for risking your health."

Van grinned. "You're probably right. If we'd had her at Teruel, Franco would still be trying to fight his way in."

I asked Van if he had a good time. He allowed that it had been an interesting game. Besides Mr. Cramp, Mr. Graham and Archie were there. So was Mr. Bridgeman. I winced. "I'm sorry. He does sit in sometimes if the Knights of Columbus meeting breaks up early. I should have remembered to warn you he might be there."

"It's alright," Van reassured me. "He wasn't pleased to see me, but he was willing to put politics aside temporarily for the sake of poker." A sly smile crept across his face. "I don't think Mr. Cramp was happy when I said that I also planned to forget the war for one evening and enjoy myself."

I smiled back. "He probably saw that as throwing down the gauntlet against his interview plans."

"He did. He spent the first part of the night trying to worm his way into my confidence by singing your praises. Of course, he eventually worked around to your fund raising for the Republic and your pen pal project. He may not share your devotion to the Republic, but he admires your organizing ability and dedication to humanitarian work."

I couldn't have been less surprised. "Mr. Bridgeman must have loved that."

"He was steaming. He raised on the next hand when he should have folded."

It was terrible of me to giggle, but I couldn't help it. Van continued. "Poker isn't for the thin-skinned. Everybody at the table could tell when he had bad cards."

"I hope the rest were more of a challenge."

"Mr. Cramp is clever, but he gets excited when he's doing well. Mr. Graham is competent, but a little too cautious. My brother's eyes narrow slightly if his cards aren't good. They didn't used to. I'll have to warn him about that. Archie is the best player. I had a hard time reading his expression. There's a lot more to him than meets the eye."

I had to agree. "There always was. I'm starting to think that's true of a lot of children of domineering parents."

From the Journal of Honey Sutton Mar. 25, 1938

… Grace was uncharacteristically irritable at lunch today. Callie Cramp is still pestering her to get Van to give an interview on CRNB. Grace actually threatened to tell him how outrageously she's been flirting with his brother if she doesn't let the subject drop. Rebecca is trying to get Lionel to appear as a guest on her Moments with Fashion segment to talk about antique fashions and furniture. Grace's imitation of her mooning over his handsomeness and sophistication was wicked. Apparently being the center of a triangle isn't enough for her. She thinks she can handle a quadrangle.

In two weeks: Bad news from Spain. Two interviews. Van gets an offer.


End file.
